The Cover of Darkness
by alliegirl4life
Summary: The sequel to The Terrible Discovery. Full summary inside! Please read and review. Warning: Slash, strong language and character death. You have been WARNED!
1. Prologue

**Title: "The Cover of Darkness"**

**Author: Alliegirl4life**

**Summary: Sequel to "The Terrible Discovery." Degeneration X is still together and holding strong, but new problems are about to emerge. As Shawn and Hunter soon discover, there is another serial killer on the loose; only this time, it's the whole company that is in danger. With the much needed help of Detective Michael Hitchcock, Shawn and Hunter once again try to stop the killer before he strikes again. However, there may be more at stake than Shawn and Hunter realize. Please read and review.**

**Characters: Shawn Michaels, Hunter, Vince McMahon, Detective Michael Hitchcock, Nikki Styles as well as many others.**

**Characters I own: Michael Hitchcock and Nikki Styles**

**Warning: Slash, mentions of violence, rape, and character death.**

**Pairing: Shawn/Hunter**

**Genre: Mystery/Suspense**

**Disclaimers: I don't claim to know them or own the characters associated with the WWE, and I'm not making any money off of this work of fiction.**

**Enjoy!**

**Prologue**:

_It is only a matter of time before she awakens-she will learn her fate soon enough. _I think to myself as I toss the heavy shovel aside. That damn slut had it coming to her; that's for sure. With a grin on my face, I place the headphones into my ears and glimpse down at my watch-12:35am. _Just perfect_, I tell myself. Soon enough that bitch will wake up, and start screaming for someone to help her. Who the hell _would_ want to help that sleazy whore is beyond me. After all, look at who she works for: that damned Vince McMahon! He'll get what's coming to him soon enough. But for now, eliminating his sluts one by one will have to do. Suddenly, I begin to hear sounds coming through my headphones and smile; _that's it, wake up! Look at where you've ended up, you stupid bitch_! That's when I hear it-the wonderful, horrified screams coming from inside the coffin. _Yes! Yes_! _That's it! Scream like the whore that you are_! _This is something I should have done a long time ago_, I remind myself. After everything she has done, after everything I've been forced to endure-this bitch is finally getting what she so rightfully deserves.

And that is the most rewarding concept of all.

I continue to listen to her scream and plead for her life as I remain hidden behind a pile of bushes just a few feet away from the grave site; and just to think that this night couldn't have turned out any more perfect.

-----

She slowly opened her eyes and saw nothing but the darkness that surrounded her. _Where was she_? Was this some kind of dream? She tried to move, but found she could not. Obviously, if this was a dream, it felt real. And that _smell_-the smell alone was enough to make her gag. She then tried to take in a fresh breath of air -which she found to be nearly impossible. God, her lungs burned! In fact, they felt as though they were on fire! Regardless of how much air she took in-she still couldn't breathe. Frightened, she attempted to sit up, and hit her head on something hard.

_Bang!_

_Ouch_! She fell back down and felt the soft, yet solid surface beneath her give way-as if it had _moved_ slightly. She removed her hand from where it lay on her chest and felt around; all she could feel was the four solid walls that were enclosed around her. Then she felt something else, something she could only hope was not real.

_A body?_

Oh my God! It just couldn't be real! She had to be dreaming. There was no way she was laying on top of a **_dead body_**!

But then where was that horrid stench coming from? She let her hand graze over the over-sized mass that lie beneath her and felt what she thought to be bones and cloth; and that was when she realized she was not dreaming.

_This was indeed very real_.

She began to scream, but then stopped herself. She told herself to calm down and to think of a logical way to escape. She knew she had to get out of there, but how? Carefully, she lifted her head up in order to look down at where her feet would be; but found she could see nothing but pitch black darkness, which was more frightening to her than anything else she had experienced previously; and that is when she realized she was lying inside a coffin.

_She had been buried alive._

Suddenly panicked, she began to scream and cry out for help. She needed to get out of there. Someone had to be there, somebody had to hear her, just had to! She began scratching and clawing the roof of the coffin, but to no avail; and that was when she knew:

_There was no escape._

Feeling defeated, she let out a loud scream, hoping somebody, anybody, would be able to hear her. But unknowing to her, the only other soul that could hear her screams was none other than the killer himself. She let out one last cry for help before falling silent once and for all; and that was when the killer knew: he was about to get his ultimate revenge.

---

**Greenwich, Connecticut: 9:35am**

She skimmed through the newspaper articles until she found what she was looking for; the article that had been written by her brother, Joey Styles. How long had it been since he had an article published?

_Five months? Six months_?

Like it mattered anyway. Her brother had accomplished his goal, and that's what mattered.

As she began skimming through the details of his story, however, the phone rang. Hesitantly, she put down the newspaper and picked up the receiver.

"Hello?" She waited a few seconds until she heard the familiar voice on the other end. "Hello Joey. Yes…I got the paper. Yea, I like it too. However, I was curious as to why they haven't published any of your other articles?" She waited for her brother to respond.

"I really don't know. Listen, Nikki, I don't have much time to talk; Vince is expecting to meet me within the hour." So typical of him, she thought to herself diligently. "I just called to see what you thought of my work."

Nikki ran her fingers through her blonde, curly hair before responding. The last thing she needed to do was coheres an argument. "It's, uh, it's rather interesting, I must say." However, to her, nothing could have been further from the truth. She knew how hard her brother had worked to get the article in on time, but as she continued to read it, however, she had to admit that her brother's work was not very interesting at all; but rather dull, if she could say so herself.

"That's great. Well, listen; I'm about one mile away from Headquarters now, so I'll talk to you sometime later this afternoon, alright?" Although it had been one whole month since she had heard from him, here he was trying to cut their long-awaited conversation short; Nikki couldn't believe it.

"Alright, okay. Talk to you later. See you." She disconnected the phone call before her brother could respond. She loved her brother to death, but sometimes it appeared as though his job meant more to him than his own family-including her; and that is what bothered her the most. Feeling suddenly frustrated, she crumpled up the newspaper in her left hand and threw it into the nearest trash can she could find; but as she let it fall in, however, she noticed what appeared to be a snapshot of a wrestling arena covering what she assumed to be the front page. Thinking it was only her imagination; she picked up the newspaper one last time and unraveled it, only to find her suspicions were correct. It was a wrestling arena, but which one she could not be sure. _What was this_?

She pressed the crumpled corners of the paper and read the bold headline to herself.

**"MYSTERY DISAPPEARENCE OF DIVA BAFFLES WWE."**

That was when she finally knew the reason why her brother's article hadn't hit the front page after all. A diva had gone missing. Nikki scratched her temple as she thought for a moment. As everyone in the general area of Greenwich knew, the WWE had the some of the best security guards in the country; and most of them were being hired as personal escorts for the female divas that were competing in that Diva Search contest. There was no way anybody could get past those security guards.

Or was there?

----

Shawn had heard enough, Hunter just didn't understand his point of view anymore, did he?

"I'm telling you, Shawn, the company won't mind us being together. Hell, they accepted some other tag teams that were considered more than just 'friends'. I don't see what you have to worry about." Shawn scratched his jaw and glared at Hunter. How could he possibly explain his point of view to somebody who was defiantly stubborn when it came to compromise?

"Hunter, look, we both know Vince very well-we both know what he's capable of. Yea, he accepted some of those so-called 'tag teams,' but look at where they ended up. They certainly don't work for the WWE anymore, that's for sure."

Though Hunter didn't want to admit it, Shawn did have a very good point. "Yea, that's true; but look at us! Hell, we have been with this company for how long?" Shawn rolled his eyes.

"A long time, Hunter."

"Exactly! We both want this to work out, so I say-to hell with them. If Vince has a problem with it, then we just have two words for him!" Shawn didn't know what to tell him anymore. For the past three months, they had managed to keep their engagement a closely guarded secret. However, as time went on, more people had become curious as to how close he and Hunter really were. It was frustrating, especially for him. He was growing tired of all the questions, and of all the rumors that were now circulating on the Internet. He had wanted to spread the news for a while, but the fear of getting fired had prevented him from doing so.

"Yea, I know. Hunter, I really don't have a problem with that, but it's just Vince. I don't want to get fired; you know what I'm saying?" Hunter wrapped his strong, muscular arms around him and held him close. God, how Shawn loved it when he did that!

"Shawn, I understand, really. You just have to realize, though, that sooner or later, people are going to find out about us. We'll have to tell them eventually." That was the most dreadful fact of all. The fact that fans around the world wanted to know as much about the duo as possible was something the two of them couldn't ignore. Hunter was right; they would have to confess eventually; but not yet.

Just as Hunter was about to let Shawn go, his cell phone rang. Hesitantly, he answered.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Hunter?" Hunter pulled the phone away from his ear for a brief moment to look at the Caller I.D. He couldn't believe it, the person on the other end was none other than Vince McMahon. What on earth could he possibly want at this time of day?

"Vince? Yea, this is Hunter, is there a problem?" He and Shawn exchanged curious glances, giving Hunter the notion that neither of them was expecting a phone call from the boss himself.

"Yea, there is. You know about the Diva Search that we are having, right?" How the hell could he _not_ know about that? The Diva Search competition was only the second most popular thing on television, aside from movies being featured on other televised networks, of course.

"Yea, I know about that. Why are you asking?"

"Well, because there was an incident early this morning, and as it turns out, we can't hold the competition tonight. Now I know that both you and Shawn have the night off, but I was wondering if perhaps you would be able to make it to the show." Hunter remained silent for a few seconds as he considered his options. He could always tell his boss that he wasn't available tonight; after all, he and Shawn had some unfinished business to take care of. However, he knew that Vince wouldn't be so favorable to him taking that option, so only one remained. He let out a sigh of frustration as he gave the boss his answer.

"I suppose that can be arranged. I just have one question for you, though."

"Okay," he said.

"Have you tried getting a hold of Shawn, yet?" He asked, waiting for an answer.

"I've tried calling his room number, but nobody answered. I then called the hotel back and the clerk told me she had no idea where he could be. So, I was thinking maybe YOU could try reaching him."

"Sure, not a problem," Hunter exclaimed with a smile on his face, "I'll let him know. What time should I be there?"

"Say around….5:30pm. I'll make sure to keep the arena doors unlocked for you."

"Alright, see you then. Bye." He disconnected the call and placed his cell phone back into his pocket. He then looked at Shawn and told him the news.

"What does he mean by 'incident'? What tragic 'incident' would cause the team to cancel the '_ever important Diva Search_'?" Hunter looked down at his watch and ran his fingers through his hair; if only he could give him an answer.

"I have no idea, Shawn; but I do know one thing: its four now, if we're to make it to the arena by 5:30pm, we better get going." Shawn, realizing that their date may not be happening after all, grabbed his jacket and his gym bag. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought this was history repeating itself.

Unknowing to the both of them, it was.

**To Be Continued?**

**A/N: This is only the prologue to this story, so should I continue? Please leave a review and tell me what you think, thanks!**


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter I to "The Cover of Darkness."**

**Distribution: here and Ladyjackyl's Fan Fiction Forum. Anywhere else, just ask. **

**Characters I own: Nikki Stiles, Detective Michael Hitchcock and Don Smith; almost everybody else is owned by the WWE unless otherwise stated.**

**Warnings: Mentions of slash, violence, character death, and swearing. **

**Note I: This may take a while to post, so I hope those of you who are reading this do not mind. Please read and review, and let me know if I should continue this story.**

**Note II: I also apologize for any spelling errors that may occur throughout the duration of this story. Blame it on the computer, not me! Lol. **

---

**M**ichael Hitchcock had a slight suspicion that his long-awaited vacation wouldn't be happening. Sooner or later, he knew a phone call from his colleagues would be inevitable; and at 11 pm on a Sunday night, his suspicions were confirmed.

While sleeping peacefully in his hotel room, he heard the phone ring.

_Shit._

With the greatest of hesitation, he scooted over to the edge of the bed and reached out for the phone on the night stand.

"Hello?"

"Detective Hitchcock? This is Detective Fox with Chicago Police Department; we need your help in an investigation. When is the soonest you can come in?" Michael rubbed his eyes as he sat up in bed, looking over at the digital clock next to him. Was this really necessary? Calling him at 11:05 pm one night just to ask him if he'd come into work? He was scheduled to be put on Leave of Absence, he couldn't believe this!

"Uh, what does this investigation concern?" He asked, making sure to whisper as to not wake his wife next to him.

"Well, all I can say is that there has been a murder over in Greenwich, and according to what the boss is telling me, they may need you to help out."

"Hold on," Michael commanded, "did you just say '_Greenwich_'? As in _Greenwich, Connecticut_?"

"Yes, sir." If Michael had been tired before, he certainly wasn't now. Not only was that way out of his jurisdiction, but that was the city known for being the very location for WWE's Headquarters. Why his department would want him to travel that far was beyond him.

"I don't know when I can come in, I'm supposed to be on vacation, you know?"

"Well, I'm just doing what the boss is telling me to do," the police officer stated. Although Michael could understand the shortage of officers on duty at any one time, he couldn't understand why they needed him, since he had been forced to take this leave soon after the WWE murder case ended.

"Okay, although I don't have a flight scheduled for the next week or so…"

"Boss can take care of that for you. As I've asked you before, when's the soonest you can come into work?" Michael suddenly realized this was no joke, if it even was a joke to begin with. The man on the other end of the line almost sounded desperate for an answer.

"I think tomorrow sometime. If the boss wants me to come in, then tell him he's going to have to set up the arrangements for me-since I didn't have a week's notice."

"Sure thing," Officer Fox replied, "uh, be at the airport around 3pm, which should give you plenty of time." Michael lay back down and stared at the ceiling above him; why did this always have to happen to him? Why couldn't they use somebody else for the job? It didn't make any sense.

"Which plane am I supposed to board?"

"American Airlines, I believe. Our boss already sent the airline ticket via FedEx, so you should have no problem." _I better not,_ Michael thought to himself. The last thing he needed to have deal with was a flight arrangement that he didn't have a ticket for.

"Alright, I'll be there," he finally said, before hanging up the receiver. At the sound of the phone hanging up, his wife turned over on her side and looked up at him.

"You're going back, aren't you?"

Michael glared at her, his eyelids growing heavy. "Unfortunately, yes, I am."

---

Although it had taken him two hours or so to get to Connecticut, Michael didn't want to be there. The last time he was abruptly called into work, a horrifying murder case had plagued him, and his suspicions told him that this time would be no different. Something was wrong; he could almost sense it in the way Detective Fox's voice sounded over the phone. He knew Detective Fox, and when his tone of voice sounded concerned, there was probably a very good explanation for it. He put his rental car in park before turning off the ignition; he was five minutes early, but to his surprise, there was already a crowd of people waiting outside in the parking lot of the police station.

As soon as he opened his car door, the crowd of people swarmed in on him, asking him a bunch of questions concerning some murder that he hadn't even heard about. Baffled as well as stunned by the frenzy, he attempted to walk through the crowd, hoping they wouldn't follow him. But much to his dismay, they wouldn't leave him alone. What was this?

"Excuse me, coming through!" He ordered, raising his arms to block the path of the on coming crowd. He didn't know it at the time, but the crowd was filled with nothing more than wrestling fans, wanting in on the possible investigation that was currently taking place. "EXCUSE ME!" Finally, after a few minutes of absolute chaos, a uniformed police officer approached him and took him by the hand.

"Excuse us, ladies and gentlemen," commanded the officer, as he led Michael through the front doors of the massive building. "Coming through."

"Excuse me, officers," one female reporter asked, "what do you know about the current investigation?" To this, the officer turned and looked at her directly.

"We know nothing as of yet," he continued to pull Michael in the general direction of the building, "but we will let you know when we do-now EXCUSE us!" After ten minutes of struggling with the crowd, the officer finally managed to make it to the front door to the building. "Mr. Hitchcock, just follow me," the man commanded.

Once inside of the building, Michael was introduced to the detective leading the investigation; to his surprise, it was none other than his former partner, Detective Don Smith.

"Don, well what a surprise, it's good to see you!" Michael greeted him as he shook his hand graciously.

"Yes, it is," Don replied carefully. "It's an honor, Michael, but unfortunately, we didn't bring you all the way to Connecticut for a reunion-this is some serious stuff we're dealing with here." Recognizing the tone in his former partner's voice, Michael figured he was being serious and decided to follow suit.

"So, what is the situation, Don?" He asked, placing his hand back into his pocket.

"Well," Don began, pointing to the bulletin board next to him, "what we are dealing with is yet another serial killer, I suppose, but so far, only one woman has gone missing." As Don continued to explain the details of the case, Michael couldn't help but wonder if this criminal was a copy cat of the original killer-Officer Turow. "….the woman was supposed to be featured in the wrestling Diva Search that's being featured on Vince McMahon's programming. However, the night after the contest debuted, she went missing."

"Who was she, Don?" Michael asked cautiously.

"Her name was April, though her last name has yet to be released." Don answered. Michael became curious as to why the name hadn't been released, but thought better of asking such a question. He had just arrived at the station, and he wanted all the information on the killer, not the victim, that he could get. That wasn't the way he worked. He felt that if he became emotionally attached to a victim in a case he was working on, he wouldn't be as successful at catching the killer; and so far, his success rate proved so much as being true. He had yet to let a killer slip through the system.

"Okay, tell me this, when can we get started?" Don looked at the clock on the wall and turned to face him.

"Right now, if you'd like."

Michael let out a sigh before saying the thing he had wanted to say since he arrived. "Then let's begin."

---

Shawn followed Hunter through the back entrance to the arena; though they were fifteen minutes early, Hunter thought it would be best if they went straight to their locker room. On their way there, however, they were stopped by none other than Vince himself.

"Hunter, Shawn, can you come to my office, please?" Curious, Shawn asked him a question.

"Yea Vince, tell us, what's goin' on here? I thought we had the night off!"

Vince turned to acknowledge him. "You did have the night off, Shawn, but not anymore." Not completely satisfied, Shawn continued to press the boss for a better explanation.

"No, Vince, tell me, why are we here? What happened? Something's wrong, otherwise you wouldn't be holding out on us like this!" Knowing he was right, Vince finally decided to fill them in on the situation.

"Alright, you want to know?" Shawn nodded his head. "Okay, if you guys haven't heard yet, one of the women for our Diva Search has gone missing. The police have a reason to believe that she may have been kidnapped, or worse. Are you satisfied now, Shawn?" Pausing to allow his words to sink in, he motioned toward his office door. "Now if you will please." Knowing more was at stake if he was to keep pressing for details beyond the confines of a private office space; Shawn led the way through Vince's office door.

Once inside, Vince closed and locked the door behind him before revealing the plan for the show later that night. Little did he know the killer had been listening in on his plan the entire time.

---

_This mother fucker thinks he has a flawless plan to postpone the Search, huh? We'll just see about that!_

_I then turn away from Vince's door just in time to see HER walking towards me. I smile to myself; this slut will never see it coming._

"Excuse me," _I call out to her, _"perhaps you can help me out. Are you an employee here?"

"Uh, no,"_ she tells me while playing with her long, blonde hair, _"but I'm hoping to be. Why?" _She gives me a smile and looks up at me with those pitiful eyes of hers. How pathetic!_

"Well, I was asking because you see," _I think of a quick explanation to cover my tracks_, "I need to get a hold of somebody, and I was wondering if you or anybody else knew where the payphones were." _Hey, it's not the most gracious of explanations, but as far as this ditsy bitch is concerned, it works just as well. I stand there, waiting for my opportunity to strike. Perhaps if she'd show me the way to where the payphones are located…_

"Oh, okay," _she tells me_, "right this way." _Perfect! I knew it would work. Now if I can find some place quiet….right as I think that, I spot what looks to be a janitor's closet to my right. It's now or never! Suddenly, I grab a hold of her and drag her into the closet and close the door behind me. Though she fights me at first, I tighten my grip around her neck until she finally loosens hers. It's then when I pull out a bottle of ethanol and a rag from the inside of my jacket and before I know it, she's out like a light. _

_Now it's on to faze two of my plan-and just like last time, nobody will know what happened until its too late. _

**To Be Continued?**

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who has read this story so far. Please leave some feedback, thanks!**


	3. Chapter 2

**Author: Alliegirl4life**

**Title: The Cover of Darkness**

**Characters: Shawn Michaels, Hunter, Detective Michael Hitchcock, Nikki Styles, and many others.**

**Disclaimer: Besides my characters of Detective Michael Hitchcock and Nikki, I do not own anyone in this story unless otherwise stated; and I'm not making any money off of this fic. **

**Warnings: Slash, strong language, violence and character death. You have been warned!**

**Pairing: Hunter/Shawn.**

**Notes from the Author: this is taking me a while to post, so for those of you reading this, I apologize ahead of time. I hope you enjoy this for whatever it's worth!**

**--------------------------------------------------**

Chapter 2:

_I drag her out into the parking lot with a smile on my face; it's about time I give this bitch what she rightfully deserves. Hell, I'm doing her a favor, after all._

_If only Vince could see me now; damn, I would die just to see the look on that bastard's face when he discovers that another one of his trashy whores has gone missing. Such a shame, too; just to think that he could have prevented this from even taking place had he not fucked himself over. And now he must pay dearly for what he has done. If only I didn't have to go through all of these worthless whores just to get to him._

_Then suddenly, as if reading my thoughts, I spot one of the lead announcers walking through the parking garage. As I continue to observe the man, it soon becomes apparent me that I know him personally; and that is when it occurs to me that I could make him my very next victim. Fuck these sleazy whores, if I want to get personal with Vince himself, I need to start with the people he cares about the most. Make him die more than once as I always say. _

_Realizing that he hadn't seen me, I put the bitch into the trunk of my car and walk towards the driver's side door and climb inside._

_I then laugh to myself as I put the car into gear and drive away from the arena while keeping my rearview mirror focused on the Oklahoma bitch that I plan to make my next victim._

_Jim Ross._

-------------------------------

Nikki, meanwhile, was having a problem with the mystery surrounding the diva that had been missing since two days ago.

She was a reporter for one of the wrestling dirt sheets, after all; she knew she needed something to go on. Although her brother was a famous commentator for the WWE, his job prohibited him from giving her an insider on the business. And no wrestler or employee in the right mind would dare attempt to give her an exclusive; they, too, would risk their livelihoods if they did. Which was just another problem that frustrated her. If only somebody would be willing to help her out.

Just then, the phone rang. Hoping it would be somebody answering her prayers, she hurriedly picked up the receiver.

"Hello, Nikki Styles?" She sighed, it was none other than her employer, Dave Meltzer.

"Hi Dave," she muttered quietly. She knew what the phone call meant: another deadline she would have to meet. Great.

"I was just calling to see how your story was holding up? You get any insiders on what's going on with that missing Diva?" She glared at the digital clock setting on top of her nightstand and groaned. It was only eleven o'clock in the morning. Certainly he wouldn't want to read her story idea now.

Would he?

"It's not doing so well," she began to explain, "not only will nobody from the company return my calls, but my own brother won't even help me. I have nothing to go on, Dave. Absolutely nothing." She secretly hoped he would take the hint and hang up the phone; but instead, all she heard was the sound of his monotone voice talking away. If only she could get him to shut his mouth for once!

"That's a shame, Nikki, really," Dave replied sternly. "You know the deadline's near and I need a story for the Newsletter."

"I know, but try explaining that to the WWE. They don't care for reporters; you know that as well as I do." She stood up from the bed and made her way toward the bathroom as she waited for Dave's response.

"Well, if you have nothing to go on, maybe I do. Remember that huge case from a few months ago? The Officer Turow case?" Of course she remembered. How could she not?

"Yea, I remember. What about it?"

"The detective that was on the case is here in Connecticut. Turns out, I've heard he's back in business, if you catch my drift." Nikki smiled, she knew what was coming.

"…And let me guess, you want me to interview him?"

"You got it; I managed to contact him earlier this morning and offered him money for an _exclusive_ interview. He accepted my offer and he's expecting to meet you around two o'clock this afternoon." Nikki could feel the excitement welling inside of her, until she realized how much time she had to get ready. Only three hours!

"Alright," she said, peering at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. "I'll get right on it. Question: where am I supposed to meet this detective?"

"The café three blocks from the wrestling arena. He's been hired to investigate the case. And Nikki, don't be late." She thought for a moment before asking one final question.

"Okay, and Dave, what is this detective's name?"

"His name is Michael Hitchcock."

Nikki sighed with frustration; she recognized that name.

It was the name of the man she had questioned at the police station just two days before.

He had also been her ex-boyfriend.

-------------------------

"Rebecca?" Melissa called out as she peeked her head through the woman's locker room door. Rebecca had left the room only ten minutes ago; certainly she couldn't have gone too far. After all, she did have a match to prepare for. "Rebecca, are you in here?"

"Are you looking for somebody?" Melissa heard somebody ask. Turning around, she saw it was none other than Trish Stratus.

"Yea, I'm looking for Rebecca, she has a match coming up."

Trish scanned the locker room for a brief moment before turning her attention back to the Diva contestant. "I don't know, I haven't seen her. Is she new?"

"Yea," Melissa managed quickly, "she's in the contest. Seriously though, you haven't seen her?" Trish shook her head. "Okay, well if you do see her, please let her know that I was looking for her, and that her match is coming up shortly."

"Okay," Trish said, "I'll make sure to do that." She watched as Melissa smiled and quickly closed the door. Though she didn't particularly care for the Diva contestants that were running around the arenas on a weekly basis, she knew the company had become very concerned for their safety. Fortunately for the wrestlers, that meant definite overtime; but unfortunately, she knew what it meant for her.

She could become a potential target.

---------------------------

"Are you done in there yet?" Shawn asked Hunter for the fifth time since Hunter had begun taking his shower. He was tired of waiting; they only had ten minutes to prepare for their match.

"Not yet, Shawn," Hunter called back, "will you stop asking me that?" Shawn rolled his eyes; he couldn't believe it took Hunter such a long time just to take a shower!

"Come on, Hunt, we don't have all night; we need to get out there!" Shawn said as he unlaced his wrestling boots and put them on. It wasn't like Hunter didn't have time after the show to spare, so why Hunter had insisted on taking a long shower right before their match was beyond him.

"Alright, in a minute!" He heard Hunter shout from inside the shower. Then finally, after a whole thirty minutes of constant nagging and begging, Hunter finally stepped out of the shower and walked into the main locker room area where Shawn had been waiting on him. It was then Shawn found himself checking Hunter out; with that damp, blonde hair, and that masculine body of his, Shawn couldn't help himself. But trying to suppress his urges, he kept his calm, irritated demeanor. "There, I'm done. Are you happy?" Shawn glared at him for a brief moment before answering.

"Yes, I am."

Hunter sighed, "Okay, then." Then, as he grabbed for the rest of his wrestling gear and sat down on the bench, he noticed Shawn staring at him. Feeling slightly paranoid, Hunter decided to question it. "What?"

"Hunter," Shawn said as he sat down on the bench next to him, "did I ever tell you how much I love you?" Hunter put on his shirt and rolled his eyes; he knew that whenever Shawn told him that, he always wanted something.

"Okay, Shawn, you're up to something. I know you want something from me, so what is it?" He watched as Shawn gave him that puppy-dog look he was famous for.

"Me, want something from you? Never!" He fell silent for a second, and then decided to confess. "Alright, so I do want something, but it's something we'll both benefit from." Hunter smiled, noting the flirtatious tone in Shawn's voice.

"Oh really? What would this _something_ happen to be?" Hunter leaned in closer to his fiancé, hoping for a kiss or something more. Just as Hunter was about to seal the deal, however, there was a knock at the door. Irritated, Hunter told whomever it was to enter.

"You're on in three minutes," the man standing at the door said to them.

"Alright, we'll be right out." Hunter said before the door completely closed. Knowing that whatever it was Shawn had in mind wouldn't happen, Hunter stood back up and headed toward the door. "Come on, guess it's time to go." He opened the door and waited as Shawn slowly followed suit. If only Shawn could have told him what he wanted.

If only he would have known that what Shawn had wanted of him would be the one thing he would never get to experience again.

**To Be Continued….**

**A/N: Hope you're enjoying the story so far, and don't forget to keep those reviews coming! Thanks.**


	4. Chapter 3

**Author: Alliegirl4life**

**Title: The Cover of Darkness**

**Characters: Shawn Michaels, Hunter, Nikki Styles, Detective Michael Hitchcock, and many others mentioned.**

**Warnings: Slash, strong language, mentions of violence, rape, and character death.**

**Pairing: Shawn/Hunter**

**Disclaimer: Besides my own characters of Nikki and Michael Hitchcock, I don't own any characters in this story unless otherwise stated; I'm simply using their names for my enjoyment. **

**Notes from Author: I know it's been a while, but for those of you still reading this story, this chapter will hopefully live up to your expectations. I hope you enjoy this for whatever it is worth.**

----------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 3:

_Dragging her through the back door, I quickly think of a plan on how to rid of this bitch. Damn cops are driving around the area now, so burying her isn't an option. I could always end her suffering quickly, but why the hell would I do something like that? Torturing is what I do best; and I'd be damned if it wouldn't help me prepare for my next victim._

_Jim Ross, one of the top guys of the company. If there is anyone who will be at a position to give me what I want, it'd be him. Now, if only I can find a way to rid of my first victim…._

_And that is when I spot it; hanging up on the wall is the one torture device I rarely get the opportunity to use: the backwards bear trap. Though it's only been used in movies, I find it to be quite useful for such instances like this one. And just to think that she'll never know…_

_I quickly drag her through the hall, grab my favorite torture device and manage to find the perfect hideout for this special slut of mine:_

_The cellar downstairs; absolutely perfect…_

--------

As she waved her hand frantically for a taxi, Nikki couldn't believe she was about to see her ex-boyfriend for the first time in almost a year. And all for a simple story she had been assigned by her boss. She sighed; she knew something like this was bound to happen. But nonetheless, she kept her head held high and managed to stop a taxi just before it was about to pass her by.

Thank God for small favors, she thought as she climbed in. After handing the driver what money she had on her person, she told him where she needed to go and before she knew it, the driver had put the car in gear and began following through with her directions. Ten minutes later, she told the driver to stop the taxi and climbed out; all while hoping she was at the right place.

If only her boss had been more specific with the directions he had given her. Maybe then she would know precisely if the building standing before her was indeed the correct one. She'd hate it if this wasn't the place the meeting was supposed to be held, much less if she was considered late. This was her only opportunity to get an exclusive on the story, and she knew better than to let it slip through her very fingers. Walking up the concrete stairs and through the front entrance doors, she surveyed the scene to find a series of tables to her left and some booths off to her right. Not knowing where else to go, she slowly proceeded toward one of the booths and sat down quickly.

"Excuse me, ma'am," a woman called to Nikki in a strange southern drawl, "what can I get you? You know, the special's half off today." As Nikki looked at the woman, she noticed the woman had what appeared to be scarring on her left cheek bone. Pretending not to notice, however, she turned her attention to the menu that lay in front of her.

"Oh, uh, I guess I'll just have some nice hot coffee," she said. The woman let out a laugh as she pulled out her notepad and jotted the request down.

"You're not from around here, are you?" The woman asked politely. Nikki shook her head.

"No, not really," she lied, "in fact, I'm supposed to be meeting someone."

"I could tell just by your request. Who are you meeting, by the way?" _Like it's any of your concern_, Nikki thought grudgingly.

"Oh, just someone wanting to be interviewed is all." The woman smiled.

"Really, is it about that wrestling case going on around here? The town's been talking about it for a while now."

Nikki looked up at her, surprised. She hadn't expected the news to spread so quickly. "Yea, how'd you know?"

The woman shrugged her shoulders and turned, "what else would someone want to be interviewed for? Nothing else happens!"

"Oh," Nikki managed to say before the woman walked away. As she watched the woman disappear behind the silver kitchen door in the back of the café, she found herself thinking about what she had just heard. Before she could analyze it, however, she felt somebody tap her on her shoulder. Startled, she looked up only to see the one person she had gone such a long distance to meet and interview: Detective Michael Hitchcock.

"Hello," Michael said smoothly, "mind if I sit with you? You look rather lonely, sitting here by yourself." Recognizing the level of sarcasm in the man's voice, Nikki motioned for him to sit in the seat directly in front of her. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Nikki said, grabbing her notepad and writing down the precise time for the purposes of her interview. "So, are you still willing to give me an exclusive on the case?"

Michael paused and shook his head, "Anything for an interview, eh? I should have known you would never change."

Shocked by this remark, Nikki raised her eyebrows. "Wait a minute, Mike, my boss is offering you payment for this interview. I'm just reporting it."

Michael placed a napkin down on his lab and gazed at her. "That's not what I was told. If that's what your boss said he offered me, then even _he's_ terribly mistaken."

"What are you talking about? I heard what I heard, Mike, my boss told me that he was willing to offer you payment for the details surrounding this case; and that you accepted his offer. What possible mistake could there be?"

"The mistake that that's not what he offered me." Michael arguably replied. "He told me that you'd be willing to see me again if I agreed to this interview. I don't know what he told you exactly, but that's what I heard…." Nikki, angered by Michael's response, clinched her fists and held her tongue; God only knew all of the things she had wanted to say at that point. Noticing her facial expression, Michael decided to question it. "What?"

"You know, I could have sworn you were married, Michael."

"I am," Michael said.

"Well, it's not very obvious by the way you're acting now, is it?" Just then, the woman returned from the back with a pot full of coffee. Knowing this was her best time to leave, she told the woman to hold the coffee and make it to go. Obviously confused by the command, the woman turned and left, allowing Nikki enough time to get up from her chair and make a hasty exit. "You know if you're still willing to give me an interview, then give my boss a call; but if you're going to stall and waste my time, then I'm out of here." She motioned toward the woman once more. "Check, please."

Michael abruptly stood up from his seat. "Nikki, come on, alright? Even if I was to give you whatever exclusive you want, there wouldn't be much of the case to report. You know that as well as I do." Nikki turned to face him.

"Well, maybe instead of trying to get your piece for one night, you could try to act civil and tell me what you do know about it. But no, all you want to do is lead me on and then get me in bed. Isn't that right?" With silence being her only answer, Nikki paid her bill in full and exited the café before Michael could persuade her into changing her mind.

This was simply great, she thought; not only had she lost out on getting her only good source on the case, but her boss had also lied to her face. Frustrated with how the day was panning out, Nikki climbed into her car, turned the ignition and drove out of the parking lot; unaware of the fact that her encounter with Michael Hitchcock would not be the last.

----------

"Shawn, come on, you can make it," said Hunter as he held out his hand for the hot tag the fans anticipated. Though Shawn's come back was to be expected, something about his demeanor worried Hunter. Shawn seemed rather slow that night, and if Hunter knew anything about his tag team partner, it was that he would slow his pace during a match if something was bothering him. Trying to not let it bother him, though, Hunter called out to his partner, telling Shawn to tag him in. "Come on, Shawn, you can make it. Tag me in!" At that point in the official contest, Hunter making the save appeared to be the only hope they had to win the match. However, Shawn would have none of it.

"Screw off, Hunter," one of the Spirit Squad members yelled, "I'm going to win this match, and I don't care what the script says!" Hunter then looked on, hopeless, as the Spirit Squad member known as 'Kenny Dykstra' grabbed both of Shawn's feet and dragged him across the ring. Why Shawn hadn't made his come back yet was beyond Hunter. As everyone else assumingly knew, Shawn wasn't one to lie around and wait for the opposing team to take advantage of him. In fact, Shawn was one to do the exact opposite: fight the opposing team until he couldn't fight anymore. He could usually last in matches over 25 minutes in length; but not on this night. Suddenly, Hunter saw Kenny grab one of the steel chairs setting at ringside and knew what was about to happen. Panicked, Hunter climbed off of the ring apron and looked under the ring until he found what he was looking for: his sledgehammer.

Noticing this, Kenny Dykstra, along with his fellow team members, decided to abandon the match and head backstage; losing by count-out in the process.

"Here are your winners," Lilian Garcia announced above the roar of the crowd, "by count-out, Triple H and Shawn Michaels, Degeneration X!" With their dismissal, Hunter helped the barely conscious Shawn Michaels to his feet and led him backstage. Once beyond the security of the curtain, Hunter stood still and glared at Shawn, whose face was covered in blood from blading.

"Shawn, what the hell was wrong with you out there, man? Are you alright?"

To this, Shawn raised his head and winced in pain. "I don't know what happened out there, I was about to make my come back, when Kenny struck me out of nowhere. Gosh, I must have blacked out a good three minutes."

Hunter raised his eyebrows in shock. "Are you serious? Do you remember anything after you fell down on the mat?" Shawn shook his head. "Damn, well it's a good thing I was able to make the save when I did." Smiling, Shawn gave Hunter a kiss on the cheek just as they heard somebody calling after them. Startled, both Degeneration X members turned around to see a strange man running towards them.

"Excuse me, Hunter, Shawn, can I talk to you for a minute, or are you two busy?" At a loss for words, Shawn remained silent as Hunter gave a reply.

"Uh, if this is concerning the match, then I'm sorry but…"

"No," the man said, cutting Hunter off in mid-sentence. "This has nothing to do with your match; I was actually wondering if the both of you knew the whereabouts of Rebecca." Hunter shook his head.

"Who?" Not wanting to hear any sudden details about a woman he didn't already know, Hunter shrugged his shoulders in exasperation. "Sorry, we've been working a match for the past half-hour. Perhaps somebody else might know…." Hoping the man would catch his drift and leave, Hunter, along with Shawn, turned around and began walking away. However, the man followed them, making it quite obvious to Hunter he was not about to leave the two of them alone.

"I'm sorry, I understand, but Hunter, this has more to deal with than just a missing diva. This has to deal with the both of you." Recognizing a slight sense of urgency in the man's voice, Hunter hesitantly turned back around to face him again. "Okay, thank you."

"Please, if you're playing games with us, we don't need to hear it, alright? As you can see, Shawn and I are very tired from our match and would just like to go back to the hotel…"

"…Hunter, do you remember me?" Stunned by the randomness of the question, Hunter thought for a moment.

"Yea," he said, finally recalling the face of the man, "I think so. Did you work for Vince at one time?" The man nodded his head. "I thought so…"

"I used to be one of his lawyers, remember?"

Hunter's eyes grew wide with shock, "Yea, I remember you now. Don Smith, right? You were partners with Michael Hitchcock."

The man nodded his head in agreement. "Yes, indeed. That'll be me."

Hunter smiled, "Okay, yea, what's been going on with you? Haven't seen you since the Turow case closed a few months ago." As everyone in the company already knew, both Don Smith and Hunter had given speeches at Torrie Wilson's and Candice Michelle's funeral soon after their bodies had been found and released to their families. It was a depressing affair, but Hunter was simply thankful to have survived to see the turmoil through. Shawn, however, was having a very difficult time dealing with the after math of the Turow case; from suffering bouts of night terrors and nightmares for the few times he actually manage to catch some sleep, the stress Shawn's experience had caused was not an easy obstacle to get through for the both of them.

"I'm working on a new case now," Don said, "in fact; this one may be dealing with a Turow copy-cat, if you will." He watched as Hunter's smile quickly disappeared.

"What?"

"That's what Michael believes, so I'm working on it now…"

Hunter couldn't believe what he had just heard; a Turow copy-cat? There was absolutely no way that could be possible. Or was there?

"Are you saying, what I think you are?"

"…That if this killer is a copy-cat that you two could be in danger, yes, that's exactly what I'm saying." To this, Hunter could only mutter a single curse word out of disbelief. For Don to make the assumption that Turow may have a follower was the one thing Hunter did not want or need to hear on this very night. Nevertheless, Hunter now felt obligated to give Don what he wanted.

"Alright, what do you want to know?" Looking at the two of them, Don considered his options before answering the question.

"Follow me," Don commanded him, "I think we better talk about this somewhere more private." Then as Hunter led Shawn toward the side entrance doors, Shawn looked up at him to ask the one question that had been on his mind since Hunter's conversation with Don began.

"I guess we're not going back to the hotel, are we?"

Hunter stalled for a brief moment; how he had wanted to enjoy the night with the man he had loved for so long. But now, here he was doing exactly what he had promised Shawn he wouldn't: putting someone else's needs before Shawn's. With nothing else to say, Hunter decided to give Shawn the unfortunate straight-forward answer. "I guess not." Though deep down, Hunter wished he could tell his fiancé otherwise…

Unfortunately for both Hunter and Shawn, however, what they were about to learn would force them to put their own troubles aside for good….

**To Be Continued?**

**A/N: Hopefully this chapter did not disappoint; it's been a while since I've updated this story. Well, if you like what you've read so far, please review. Thanks.**


	5. Chapter 4

**Author: Alliegirl4life**

**Title: The Cover of Darkness**

**Characters: Shawn Michaels, Hunter, Detective Michael Hitchcock, Nikki Styles, and many others.**

**Disclaimer: Besides my characters of Detective Michael Hitchcock, Don Smith and Nikki, I do not own anyone in this story unless otherwise stated; and I'm not making any money off of this fic. **

**Warnings: Slash, strong language, violence and character death. You have been warned!**

**Pairing: Hunter/Shawn.**

**Notes from the Author: this is taking me a while to post, so for those of you reading this, I apologize ahead of time. I hope you enjoy this for whatever it's worth!**

**Chapter 4 of "The Cover of Darkness."  
**  
**N**ikki Styles. The name alone sent chills down Michael Hitchcock's spine. Why he still liked her he did not know. He was married, after all, so why should he? He was supposed to be satisfied with his marriage, with his life. As far as reality was concerned, nothing could be further from the truth. Though he had thought he was becoming accustomed to the idea of being married, seeing Nikki's face once again suddenly made him reconsider. He did love his wife, no doubt about it, but he wanted excitement which his wife no longer provided. 

But Nikki did.

Realizing this, Michael felt tempted to get into his car and chase after her; but a part of him, the part that was still in love with his wife, wouldn't allow him to. Had he not made the mistake of letting Nikki go, he knew he would still be dating her.

This was something Michael hadn't been able to forget since his relationship with her had ended over a year ago. It tore him up inside; knowing that circumstances could be different had he not let her slip through his very fingers.

Damn this! He could feel the anger begin to boil over as he continued to stand there in the parking lot, watching Nikki's car drive off into the distance. He knew he had lost his one and only chance to rekindle what was left of their relationship; then again, the wedding band on his finger was a strong reminder of who was waiting for him back at home.

Frustrated, he pulled his car keys out of his jeans' pocket, unlocked his car door and climbed inside. Once he turned the ignition, however, his cell phone began to ring. Sighing, he quickly searched his pockets until his fingers grazed the small phone's leather cover. Assuming it was his wife calling to check in on him, he was quite surprised when he heard the voice responding to him on the other end of the line.

It was Don Smith, which could only mean one thing:

Michael was needed to conduct an interview; he only hoped that in doing so would provide a much-needed break in the case.

---------------------------

As Shawn climbed out of the passenger-side door of Hunter's vehicle, he couldn't help but wonder why Don Smith had chosen the two of them to help with the so-called 'investigation'. Didn't Don have the entire police department at his very disposal? If so, then why was Don bringing both he and his fiancé in for questioning? Staring at the large building that lay before him, Shawn felt the urge to turn around and leave Don standing there in the middle of the parking lot. Shawn knew Hunter didn't want to deal with this, and neither did he. This is what frustrated him the most; and if that wasn't obvious by now, he didn't know what was. Looking at Hunter, Shawn casually recalled the conversation he had had with Hunter no more than ten minutes prior:

"_Hunter, why are we doing this?" He'd asked his fiancé, sternly._

"_Why do you think?"_

"_I don't know; that's why I'm askin' ya'!"_

"_We're doing this to help Don out, you know that." _

_Shawn turned to face the window, his heart furiously pounding in his chest._

"_We shouldn't be in the car following this guy, Hunt, what we should be doing is heading back to the hotel!" Turning around once again, Shawn glared at his fiancé, hoping that he would agree and turn the car around. Instead, the only response he'd received was Hunter putting the car into second gear. _

"_You know what, Shawn? After everything that we've been through, I would hope that for just a second you would realize that we owe Don Smith our lives. If it wasn't for him, you'd be DEAD! Hell, we would both be dead if it wasn't for him doing what he did." Shawn could only sit there in silence as Hunter continued to drive. _

_**End of Flashback.**_

Looking at him now, Shawn wanted to tell Hunter how he really felt about their situation. How he didn't want to walk into the same mess that had almost cost him his life, and how he didn't want to be at the Police Station. No matter, though; once Hunter made up his mind about something, there was no convincing him to do otherwise. Shawn knew this was what had attracted him to Hunter originally, but the more he thought about it, the more irritated he'd become with the fact that Hunter refused to listen to him.

With great hesitation, Shawn followed Hunter through the front entrance to the Police Station. Only God himself knew what awaited him and his fiancé on the other side of those doors, and he'd be damned if he wasn't about to find out what it was.

----------------------

_Watching from a safe distance, I carefully observe as the slut slowly sways in her chair, moaning with each swift movement of her filthy body._

_It's about time I get my revenge on the WWE, on the Chairman himself; and this bitch is my ticket to all of that and much, much more._

_Just think: in twenty-four hours, this bitch will be the talk of the town, the talk of the city-if not the entire world itself! And for once in my life, I will be featured in the headlines of every newspaper outfit this country has to offer. The New York Times, the Post, it doesn't matter; I will regain what is rightfully mine and nobody is going to stop me._

_I am going to regain the recognition that the WWE took away from me so long ago; and as I hear the timer suddenly go off, I smile, recognizing the fact that my dream of redemption has finally arrived._

_Hearing the slut scream at the top of her lungs, I watch as the mechanism suddenly rips her face in two; leaving behind a steady stream of blood in its path. _

_Looking at the carnage, I can't help but think to myself: this is for you, Jim Ross. _

_This is for you._

-------------------

Turning the corner, Don quickly opened the door to the Interrogation room, allowing both of the wrestlers to enter.

The room was spacious, with grey walls and a single window which provided a clear view of the highway outside. It wasn't what neither Hunter nor Shawn considered to be "inviting," but the room did what it was supposed to: make people feel uncomfortable.

Gazing down at the single table located in the center of the room, Hunter sat down first, carefully pulling his chair underneath him. Shawn, however, wasn't so sure whether he should sit down or leave. He'd remembered this place from all of those months ago, and the memories that he'd associated with it. The last thing he had wanted was to face the past; to face what had happened to him. He had almost died, and for once, Hunter had been correct. Had it not been for Don Smith and his partner, he would not be standing in that very room. However, as Shawn continued to observe Don, he noticed a single manila folder in Don's right hand. Not willing to find out the answer as to what it contained, Shawn remained quiet as Don proceeded to sit down in front of Hunter.

"Sorry for bringing you two out here on such short notice," Don began casually, "but we don't have any leads in the case and I was wondering if the two of you would be willing to answer a few questions." Shawn shook his head in disbelief. He still could not understand why Don had come to them instead of somebody who was working within his own department. Before he could question him about it, though, the door behind Don suddenly flew open; a familiar face standing on the other side.

"Sorry I'm late, Don," the man stated quickly, "the traffic is crazy out there tonight!" Glaring at the man, Shawn placed his hands on his hips and slowly sat down in one of the last remaining chairs. He remembered the man from the Turow investigation and was not about to question the apparent urgency in his voice.

The man walking into the room was none other than Detective Michael Hitchcock, and the message he conveyed was one Shawn was all too familiar with: _this is a serious matter, and what I am about to tell you is very important, so listen up!_ Shawn let out a sigh of frustration while Don proceeded to question Hunter.

"Have you heard anything pertaining to the case?" Hunter shook his head.

"No, I haven't. Maybe Shawn has, though. How about you try asking him?" Hunter looked at Shawn, hoping that would be enough to distract the two investigators. However, he would soon come to regret ever trying to do so.

"Shawn," Michael interrupted, "have you heard anything?"

Shawn rolled his eyes, "How should I know? I've been workin' matches which I'm not even supposed to. All I've heard is what Vince has told us."

"Told '_us'_, as in both you and Hunter?" Michael questioned the Icon.

"Yes," Shawn replied. "He called us into work today, even when we weren't supposed to be there. We had today off, but Vince is obviously worried about the ratings. He wanted us to do a match in order to fill the extra time slot."

"Time slot for what?" Michael asked.

"For the Diva Search contest," Shawn answered. As soon as he'd provided the answer, Shawn could see the grimace on Hunter's face. Shawn knew how Hunter just wanted to get the interview out of the way, but why Hunter hadn't answered the detectives' questions honestly was beyond him. Returning his attention back to Michael Hitchcock, he noticed what appeared to be photographs in the detective's hand. Curious, Shawn asked what they were.

"What; these?" Michael looked up at him, "these are the photos of the missing woman. Perhaps you might recognize her." Handing them over to Shawn, Michael stood there in silence as Shawn carefully looked over each photograph. The first of which was of the blonde-haired woman posing for the camera, the other two were of the same woman standing inside of the wrestling ring with a microphone in hand. Looking at the woman, Shawn couldn't help but remember seeing her somewhere before.

"What's her name?" Shawn asked.

"Rebecca," Michael replied. "She wasn't one of the favorites to win, but she was apparently very popular with the Internet crowd. Twenty-nine downloads from her website as of this morning alone." Shawn continued to look at the photographs, hoping something, anything would jog his memory. Then as he looked at her face, he suddenly recalled where it was he had seen her: in front of the women's locker room door and she hadn't been alone, either.

There had been a man standing right beside her; a man who might have been responsible for her disappearance.

"I'll be honest with ya', she does look familiar," Shawn finally said aloud.

Michael quickly approached him, "Are you sure?"

Shawn slowly nodded, "Yes, she does. Though, if I can recall, she wasn't alone when I saw her."

Thinking he might finally have a break in the case, Michael quickly grabbed his notepad and a pen and sat in the last remaining chair. "Do you remember what the man looked like?" Hesitantly, Shawn began to describe the stranger he had seen just a few nights ago.

"He had dark hair, blue eyes and stood about…Oh, I don't know, about five-foot-ten to six-foot tall." Shawn leaned back in his chair as Michael continued to write on his notepad.

"Anything else; anything about his appearance that would distinguish him in any way?"

Shawn thought for a moment before responding. "Now that you mention it, there was, actually. He had dark circles under his eyes."

"Like as though he hadn't slept much?" Don interrupted.

"Yea," Shawn replied. "Something like that." Apparently satisfied with the information he had obtained, Michael finally excused the two wrestlers. "Thank you, Sir." Shawn said, as he walked toward the door.

Michael turned to face him, "No, Shawn, thank you." With that, Shawn and Hunter exited the room, quietly closing the door behind them.

After the wrestlers had left, Michael turned his attention back to his former partner, Don Smith. "I think we may have something here, Don."

Don gave him a quizzical glance, "You think so?"

Michael nodded, "Yes, I do." Smiling for the first time in almost a week, Michael replaced the photographs and stood up from his seat. "There are only a handful of wrestlers who look like that, Don, and I'm determined to figure out which one is our killer."

Glancing down at his watch, Don sighed, "Let's get started, then."

Michael laughed, "That's what I'm talking about!" With that, Michael and Don retrieved the old files which contained information on the wrestlers working for the WWE. Though it was only ten o'clock, Michael knew from experience that both he and Don had a long night ahead of them.

**To Be Continued?**

**A/N: Please let me know what you think of the story so far by sending along a review! Thanks!**


	6. Chapter 5

**Author: Alliegirl4life**

**Title: The Cover of Darkness**

**Characters: Shawn Michaels, Hunter, Detective Michael Hitchcock, Nikki Styles, and many others.**

**Disclaimer: Besides my characters of Detective Michael Hitchcock, Don Smith and Nikki, I do not own anyone in this story unless otherwise stated; and I'm not making any money off of this fic. **

**Warnings: Slash, strong language, violence and character death. You have been warned!**

**Pairing: Hunter/Shawn.**

**Notes from the Author: this is taking me a while to post, so for those of you reading this, I apologize ahead of time. I hope you enjoy this for what it's worth! Also since this story is a little difficult to follow (thanks to the computer not inserting page breaks where I need them!) I have decided to bold the first few words where every page break should be. Sorry for the confusion and I hope you enjoy!**

**Chapter 5 of "The Cover of Darkness."**

**Don watched as Michael** flipped through one of several manila folders that lay on the desk before him. Though Don didn't want to admit it, Michael was an extremely smart and efficient detective, one who was willing to work at all hours of the night just to solve a case. If only Don could say the same thing about himself, or any other detective he had worked with for that matter. But he could not; hence the reason he had the police department call Hitchcock in the first place. How else was he going to solve the case? Michael was his best ally, and everybody knew that; including Don. Don also knew that if Michael hadn't arrived at the warehouse when he did, Turow and his co-conspirator would have finished Hunter and Shawn off for good. As he contemplated the horrific possibilities of what could have occurred that fateful night, Don lacked to recognize Michael's voice saying his name repetitively.

"Don…DON!"

Don finally snapped to attention. "Yea, you find something?"

"Yea," Michael answered hesitantly. "I think you better take a look at this." Grabbing the folder from his partner's hand, Don glanced down and began skimming the contents of the page facing him. What he discovered nearly gave him a heart attack.

"You can't be serious," Don whispered to nobody in particular. "Him? That can't be possible!"

Michael stood up from his seat, his eyes glaring down at the open file. "Look at him, Don! He has all of the physical characteristics Shawn described to us; blue eyes, dark hair…It is a possibility that this could be our guy." Don looked up at Michael, his mouth agape with surprise and shock.

"But that can't be, Michael," Don argued. "Do you even know _who_ this is?"

Michael nodded his head reluctantly, "Yes, and unfortunately, I also know what is at stake if this is our guy." Don Smith could only sit back in his chair in complete silence; he still couldn't believe it.

"Michael, this guy is one of the top guys of the company," Don explained. "You interrogate him, and you'll have the entire company on our asses! This can't be our guy, it just can't be."

Michael stopped in his tracks and placed his hands on his hips, "And why not?"

"Because," Don attempted to reason, "this guy is the mainstream wrestler of the company. The man you are looking at is the WWE Champion, John Cena!" Michael let out a sigh of frustration; he knew this wasn't going to be easy.

"And that is why we need to talk to him," Michael said as he placed his finger upon the page facing him. "Here, look at this: Cena wasn't on the card the night of the kidnapping."

Merely glancing down at the information printed on the white piece of copier paper, Don shrugged his shoulders, "So?"

"So," Michael pulled his finger away, "if he wasn't wrestling that night, then where the hell was he? You know how the wrestlers work; they arrive at the arena just in case if something happens and backstage management needs a replacement."

"That doesn't mean that John Cena was at the arena that night; he could have just been sitting at home."

"But he is the champion of the company, people like him need to be there to 'represent'. People like him need to be there for the people who are backstage once the show is over. That's how the company makes its money. Come on, Don, you know that as well as I do." Don sighed; his former partner had a valid argument. "Besides, it's only eleven-thirty at night."

"You're not saying that we…Interview him, are you?" Don looked up at Michael, who was grinning. _Oh, no_.

"Yes, Don, that is exactly what I am saying. Come on," he motioned Don to follow him through the door. "I think we need to ask Mr. John Cena some questions."

**Sitting in the passenger** seat of Hunter's car, Shawn couldn't help feeling frustrated with how the night was going. So far, both him and Hunter had been called into work and interrogated by the police. What was going to happen next, another mysterious "kidnapping"? Was it even a kidnapping, or had it been something else entirely? Maybe the woman decided that she'd had enough of the life she was living and made the decision to run away from her problems. Or maybe she had eloped somewhere. Whatever it was, it certainly couldn't have had anything to do with the WWE; not again, anyway.

And at that particular moment, the memories from the Turow Investigation suddenly occurred to him; all of the memories he had been trying so hard to forget instantly bombarded his mind at once: _The way Turow looked down at him as he prepared to kill him, the sound of glass shattering, the sight of Hunter and Hitchcock as they came to his aid. The sound of the gun shots being fired. The moment he'd escaped from certain death_. _The moment he'd finally arrived at the hospital, his life hanging in the balance. _

Shawn shook his head; he would never be able to shake off those horrible memories, would he? No matter how hard he would try, they would always come back. Realizing this, he closed his eyes and hoped that the memories would soon fade away. But they did not; instead, they continued to bombard his thoughts; causing him to lose complete concentration of what was going on around him. Lacking to hear the driver's side door slam shut, Shawn struggled to repress the memories as Hunter settled into the driver's side seat of the vehicle.

"Alright, now that that is taken care of," he'd heard Hunter say out loud. Although Shawn didn't want to admit it, he still had no idea why Hunter had lied to the detectives the way he had. Curious, Shawn finally regained enough courage to ask the main question that was on his mind.

"Hunt," he asked, turning to face his fiancé. "Can I ask you somethin'?"

Hunter gave him a bewildered glance, "Sure, Shawn, what's bothering you?" _A lot, apparently_! Shawn had wanted to say. Instead, he proceeded to ask him a question.

"Why did you lie to the police?"

Hunter sighed, "Shawn, I just felt that we needed to get them off of our back, okay? The deed is done and now we are out of here." Inserting the key into the ignition, Shawn turned his attention to the building facing him: the police station. They still hadn't left thanks to Hunter's urgent bathroom break. Knowing this, Shawn simply sat back in his seat and stared at the windshield, his mind still racing with the memories that were haunting him. "Want to head back to the hotel for the night?" Hunter had finally asked him a few minutes later.

Distracted from the horrific series of memories for the first time, Shawn finally snapped to attention. "I guess. What else can we do?" Recognizing the dismal tone in Shawn's voice, Hunter pulled the vehicle over to the side of the road.

"Shawn, what the hell is your problem? I finally got the cops off of our back and now we're free to do whatever the hell we want."

Shawn glared at him, "Hunt, you wouldn't understand…"

Hunter rolled his eyes; how much longer did this have to go on? Sure, Hunter could understand how traumatized Shawn had been from his experience; hell, even he had problems sleeping at night sometimes. But that still didn't stop him from living his own life on his terms. "Shawn, yes I would understand. The only thing I can not understand is why you still allow it to get to you. It's been how many months now?" Placing his arm around Shawn's shoulders, he waited patiently for Shawn to give him a response.

"Four months, Hunter," Shawn replied begrudgingly. Hunter smiled, knowing he had finally won the argument.

"Exactly; now how about we head back to the hotel and celebrate for the night?" He watched carefully as Shawn continued to stare at him in complete silence. "Come on, we have all night long, Shawn, how can you go wrong with that?" Nudging his fiancé, Hunter knew that to convince Shawn to let his guard down was easier said than done. However, he felt that the night called for a celebration; they hadn't had one in a while.

After a few more seconds, Hunter finally decided to make a bold move; he carefully placed his hand on top of Shawn's crotch and massaged it slowly. Hunter grinned as he continued; he knew this would do the trick, if nothing else.

Struggling against Hunter's will, Shawn held back the urge to surrender as Hunter continued to feel him up. _God damn him!_ Shawn thought as he slowly began to lean back in his seat. _Why is he doing this to me? Why? I'm not in the mood to…Oh! Damn it! _Looking at Hunter, Shawn could feel himself stiffen as Hunter unfastened his seat belt and climbed on top of him. _Gosh darn him! He knows I like this, he knows it! He knows what gets me every time, even when I'm NOT in the mood. God damn it! Oh, but it feels so good…What the hell? _Finally deciding to surrender, Shawn felt around his seat until his fingers grazed the small lever beneath his head and pulled it in an upward motion, forcing his seat back. The next thing he knew, Hunter was completely on top of him, kissing him slowly. Shawn let out a soft moan as Hunter continued; he could no longer help himself. A few moments later, he suddenly felt Hunter pull away from him. _What the_…?

"Now, are you up for celebrating or not?" Hunter finally asked him. Shawn sighed; he knew he'd been manipulated.

Smiling, Shawn finally answered Hunter's question. "I am if you are." Seeing the look on Hunter's face, Shawn realized he had made the right decision.

"That's exactly what I thought," Hunter said as he turned the steering wheel. Finally, Shawn had received his wish after all; he and Hunter were able to spend some quality time together. Grinning for the first time all night, Shawn was able to temporarily forget about the memories from his past and focus on what really mattered: his fiancé, Hunter Hearst Hemsley.

**'**_**That's it…Easy does it,'**__ I think to myself as I lower her body into the ground. The hole which I have dug for her is only six foot by six foot, but it will provide plenty of room for this bitch to rot._

_Whistling as I continue to work, I grab the shovel and begin the tedious task of filling the hole with the dirt which I had removed to make this burial possible. A proper burial is a hole in the ground, I always say._

_Once the task is complete, I scan my surroundings and notice what appears to be a police cruiser driving towards my property; they couldn't be on to me this soon. There's no way in hell!_

_Crouching towards the ground, I observe the car as it slowly drives farther down the road. Sighing with relief, I quickly walk away from the burial site, open my back door and slowly make my way inside. I always knew there was a reason why I had bought such a large plot of land, and it wasn't for building a massive mansion, either._

_No, I think it was to complete my duty as the official serial killer of the WWE. Yea, that's it; a serial killer. This is only my second victim after all, so what's stopping me from killing several other people. _

'_Nothing, that's what,' I think to myself. _

_Turning on the overhead light in the kitchen, I allow my eyes to adjust to the bright light before scanning the images posted on the wall to my left. Jim Ross, Vince McMahon, all of them are about to become my victims. They just don't know it yet._

_Walking towards the wall, I raise my left hand and grab the photo of my next victim and smile to myself. He will be my next victim, whether he wants to be or not._

_Jim Ross, the Oklahoma bitch from Hell! You will get what's coming to you, just you wait and see._

_And so will my ultimate prize, Vincent Kennedy McMahon. Though I have a special plan set out for him. _

_Crumpling the piece of newspaper in my hand, I let out a slight chuckle before grabbing my tools and my Ether before exiting the back door once again. _

_Only this time, I don't have to drag a dead body with me; at least, not yet._

**To Be Continued?**

**A/N: Only you will decide: should I continue this story or not? Please let me know by sending me a review or two, thanks!**


	7. Chapter 6

**Author: Alliegirl4life**

**Title: The Cover of Darkness**

**Characters: Shawn Michaels, Hunter, Detective Michael Hitchcock, Nikki Styles, and many others.**

**Disclaimer: Besides my characters of Detective Michael Hitchcock, Don Smith and Nikki, I do not own anyone in this story unless otherwise mentioned; and I'm not making any money off of this work of fiction. **

**Warnings: Slash, strong language, violence and character death. You have been warned!**

**Pairing: Hunter/Shawn.**

**Notes from the Author: this is taking me a while to post, so for those of you reading this, I apologize ahead of time. I hope you enjoy this for what it's worth! Also since this story is a little difficult to follow (thanks to the computer not inserting page breaks where I need them!) I have decided to bold the first few words where every page break should be. Sorry for the confusion and I hope you enjoy!**

**Chapter 6 of "The Cover of Darkness"**

**It was nearly midnight** by the time Don and Michael arrived at the hotel. Holiday Inn was not a fancy place by any means, but it apparently suited the wrestlers working for the WWE just fine. That's what both Michael and Don were led to believe, anyway. Approaching the tall building before them, both detectives knew what was at stake; the man they were about to interrogate was none other than John Cena: the WWE Champion.

Not like that should have mattered, but having dealt with the company's lawyers for several years, both Michael and Don knew that one slip-up could mean disaster for the both of them as well as the entire Police Department. But that wasn't going to stop them from doing their jobs.

Hesitantly, Michael opened the front doors to the hotel and followed Don inside, where they spotted a desk clerk standing behind the front desk in the lobby.

"May I help you?" The female desk clerk asked them. Michael held out his badge and showed it to the woman, whose face paled considerably upon seeing it.

"Yes, you may," Michael Hitchcock answered. "Do you know if this man is here tonight?" He briskly handed the woman a photo of John Cena.

The woman merely glanced at the photo before answering. "Yes, I believe he signed in here just a few hours ago. What is this about?"

"This deals with an investigation, ma'am." Don interrupted. "Perhaps you could just give us his room number and we'll be well on our way."

The woman ran her fingers through her shoulder-length brown hair before turning to the computer facing her. She quickly entered the information and repeated the room number to the detectives. "Room 316."

Don smiled, "Thanks, ma'am."

The woman glared at him, "You're welcome. Have a nice night." Don smirked, knowing that her kind words held no true feeling behind them.

"You, too."

With that, he and Michael made their way up the spiral staircase of the hotel with the hopes of breaking the case once and for all.

**Shawn, meanwhile, was** having problems of his own.

After having made love to his fiancé, he couldn't help but contemplate the events that had transpired earlier that evening. The detectives, the lying, and Hunter acting as if the investigation no longer mattered; but that was just it: the investigation did matter. The last time something like this had happened, Shawn nearly lost his life; and for what? Just because he was in love with another man? That logic made no sense to him whatsoever.

Not like it mattered now; he was currently engaged to the man he loved. He should have been happy, but he wasn't. The past continued to haunt him in the form of nightmares and it was becoming more difficult for him to sleep at night. Despite his pleas for Hunter to help him, Hunter would simply roll over on his side and fall back to sleep.

Even during the Turow Investigation, Hunter had done the same thing he was doing now: he was trying to convince Shawn that there was nothing to worry about. This time, though, Shawn felt certain that there was something wrong with the way the current investigation was being handled.

He knew something wasn't quite right with the way the detectives had questioned he and Hunter earlier that night. Both detectives seemed lost, in a way, as if they didn't know what they wanted to ask or what they were supposed to be looking for. Even when Shawn had given both Michael and Don a description of the strange man he had seen with the missing diva on the night in question, both Michael's and Don's reactions were anything but subtle. There might have been something about the description that triggered the same reaction from both men, but what?

The description of the man he had given to Don Smith and Michael Hitchcock was indeed accurate, but he wasn't sure who the man was; or even if he worked for the company. So, the question still remained: what had the guy been doing backstage if he wasn't an employee of the WWE? Shawn couldn't understand it; surely, the stranger had some purpose being backstage. How else could he have received a backstage pass?

Finally closing his eyes for the first time all night, Shawn allowed the images of the Turow Investigation to recur to him; all in the hopes that something would jog his memory. But nothing came to him. All he could hear was the loud snoring of his fiancé, who was sleeping beside him. Though Shawn tried to concentrate, he found it nearly impossible to with the loud noise. Frustrated, Shawn suddenly reopened his eyes and pulled the covers off of him. The cold room sent chills down his spine, but having secretly lived in Greenwich, Connecticut for almost two years, Shawn had grown accustomed to the feeling.

After climbing out of the bed and putting on some clothes, Shawn stealthily made his way down the stairs and into the lobby of the hotel where he proceeded to sit in one of the lounge chairs. It was quiet in the lobby, with the exception of the hotel security standing in front of the hotel's entrance doors. Why he wasn't still in bed was a mystery to him, but he knew there was a reason he couldn't sleep.

Something just didn't seem right; something he had noticed about the strange man standing beside Rebecca that fateful night. _Was it his face_? No, there was nothing about the man's face that stood out in Shawn's mind. Although Shawn wasn't the most observant man in the world, there were certain "things" that he did notice at times, things about people that others did not; and this man just happened to be one of those "things." As Shawn continued to think, he glanced at the clock hanging on the wall to his far right and sighed; it was nearly one o'clock in the morning.

Why couldn't he sleep? Why couldn't he just listen to Hunter for once and ignore everything else that was going on with the company? What happened with the company stayed with the company, right? So, why was he so concerned about this particular investigation that had nothing to do with him? Could it be that the Turow Investigation still bothered him? _Probably_, Shawn thought. Why else would he be sitting in the lobby so damned early in the morning?

And that was when the strange thought occurred to him. The time; such a simple concept but one that stuck out in Shawn's recollection of the strange man. What time had he seen him?

_Ten-thirty, eleven o'clock_?

It was somewhere around that time, but there was nothing strange about that. Or was there?

Running with the sudden notion, Shawn began mentally analyzing the time when he had spotted the stranger. Everybody else had gone back to the hotel for the evening and there the strange man was standing there beside that woman as if nothing was the matter. Though Shawn had been the only professional wrestler left in the entire arena at that particular time, there was something about the man's outfit that stood out in his memory.

The shirt the man had been wearing; it had some kind of logo on it. He then concentrated on the mental image of the shirt's logo and nearly wanted to scream out loud; the logo was one he had seen so many times before. It had become such a familiar sight backstage that Shawn wouldn't have paid any attention to it otherwise. Why hadn't he thought of the stranger's outfit before? Maybe then he could have made the detectives' jobs much easier.

Thinking fast, Shawn walked over to one of the payphones opposite of his seat and dialed the number he thought might help him. Despite the fact that his cell phone was laying on the nightstand in his hotel room, Shawn knew that he could use the payphones to dial one simple number: 4-1-1. Even if his plan didn't work to his advantage now, he could always go to the police station later on. But this…This, Shawn feared, couldn't wait until morning. He had to do this now. Waiting patiently, he let out a sigh of relief when a female operator finally answered his call.

"Thanks for calling. How may I direct your call?"

"Yes, I'm trying to call Michael Hitchcock."

"City and state?"

Shawn thought for a moment, "Greenwich, Connecticut."

"Hold for one moment, please." the female voice replied. Then there was silence. Would Shawn's plan work? He couldn't help but ponder the possibility. Suddenly, Shawn heard a ringing sound coming from the other end of the line. Hopefully, he would be able to tell Michael what he knew and get some sleep for once. Unfortunately, the phone continued to ring; there was no answer on the other end. Darn!

Shawn sighed; it just figured that Information wouldn't be able to help him. Hell, it seemed like nobody could help him anymore. Where was Michael, anyway? Where was Michael's partner, Don? Weren't they supposed to be on call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week? That's what they had told Shawn right after he had been released from the hospital, anyway.

Glancing up at the clock while deep in thought, Shawn realized he had wasted over ten minutes of his valuable time; if only he'd memorized Michael's cell phone number when he still had the chance. Thinking for a moment, he tried to recollect the number he had dialed soon after the Turow Investigation had closed. But no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't remember it. Had he held onto Michael's business card, maybe he would know the number by heart and be able to contact Michael and get this mess cleaned up.

He knew he couldn't, though. He knew he didn't have the card anymore; he'd misplaced it sometime after he had returned to San Antonio, Texas. The more he thought about it, however, the more exhausted he felt. He knew he had to get some rest for a few hours, if nothing more. He didn't want to wake up his fiancé, but with his need to return to the hotel room, there was no way for him to avoid it. Rubbing his eyes, he slowly made his way back to the room where he was greeted by Hunter's loud, obnoxious snoring. Thank God Hunter was a heavy sleeper. Otherwise, Shawn knew he would have to explain himself and that was something he definitely did not want to do.

As Shawn approached the bed, he realized just how loud Hunter's snoring really was. And just to think that for over two years, he had been able to sleep through all of that noise. Now he knew why Hunter's previous partners had consistently left him after spending the first night with him.

With his head still buzzing, Shawn casually climbed into the bed, pulled back the covers and lay down. If only he didn't have to use his cell phone to call Don or Michael. He hated using that thing; it never worked when he was inside of a hotel, though he didn't know why. Even as he turned over on his side and noticed the phone setting on the nightstand facing him, he decided not to call. Maybe his discovery about the strange man wasn't that important after all.

At least, that's what he thought.

**"John, I am Detective Michael** Hitchcock and this is my partner, Don Smith. Mind if we ask you a few questions?" John Cena, the company's mainstream professional wrestler, glanced at the badge in Michael's hand before saying anything.

"Sure, come on in." John opened the door and allowed both detectives into his hotel room. "May I ask what this is about?"

Michael scanned his surroundings before answering John's question. "Yes. This has to do with the investigation dealing with the diva that went missing a few days ago. Do you know anything about that?" John rubbed his eyes and sighed.

"I wouldn't know anything first-hand, but I have heard quite a bit about it. Man, what a shame, too. She was very pretty."

Michael looked back at John for an instant and noticed that his clothes looked dirty, as if he hadn't washed them for days. He also noticed that the wrestler's eyes appeared blood-shot. Not that the wrestler's appearance was anything for him to be concerned about, but Michael still couldn't help wondering why the wrestler looked so tired. What had been preventing the man from getting enough sleep? Deciding to go with his instincts, Michael questioned him about it. "You look tired, mind if I ask why?"

"No, uh…As you know, I travel around a lot, get to see a lot of places. But I rarely sleep as a result. Hell, I'd only been asleep for three hours before you guys showed up."

"Sounds rough," Don pitched in. John sat down upon the bed before responding to Don's comment.

"Yea, it is. Working for the WWE is pretty intense. You don't get to settle down in one particular spot for very long."

Michael smiled, "Yea, I can imagine what that must be like."

"Yea, fortunately for me, I enjoy doing what I do. So, it doesn't put too much strain on me."

"Until now, that is," Michael stated matter-of-factly. He knew how Vince McMahon worked; even while Michael was working for the Chairman, he would sit back and watch as Vince abused the use of his talent just to bring in the ratings. Unfortunately, John Cena was no exception to this rule. Hell, if what Michael had seen while he was working undercover had been any indication, he would say that John Cena was the hardest-working athlete in the entire company.

"Yea, I guess you can say that. Hey, when your boss needs you, what else are you supposed to do other than go out there and give it your best?" Don and Michael both nodded in agreement.

"Guess you've got a point there, Cena," Don said. "Just one question: where were you last Monday night?"

"I was wondering when you were gonna ask me that," John replied. "I was out with Maria."

"Maria…?"

"Maria Kanellis. You've never heard of her?"

Michael laughed, "Can't say I have. But where did you guys go?"

John rolled his eyes, "I can't tell you."

Michael glared at him for a moment, "Why not?"

"Because Maria wants it to remain a secret. She doesn't want anybody to know and if the media finds out…"

"Don't worry," Michael interrupted. "We're not going to tell anybody. We just want to know where you were the night of the kidnapping."

John sighed, "You think I did it, don't you?"

"We can't rule out anything just yet," Don replied with a suspicious tone.

"Fine," John said. "We went to Olive Garden, she loves the place. She and I went there to have dinner together and then we saw a movie. Neither of us worked that night, so we thought, 'Who cares? Let's have fun.' Didn't think it was going to turn out the way it did, though."

"Meaning, you didn't know that you were going to be questioned about it later on?" Michael asked.

"Yea, that," John replied. "Look, I know this sounds strange, but it's true; Maria and I have been seeing each other for a while and we don't want anybody to know about it." He stood up from the bed and glared at the two detectives. "I swear, if this gets out…"

"Don't worry," Michael insisted, "nobody is going to know about it. We're just investigating a kidnapping, that's all." With that, Michael turned around and walked towards the door, but before he reached for the knob, he glanced over his shoulder to ask John Cena one last question: "Oh yea, by the way, how did you know she was dead?"

"Who?"

"Rebecca, the missing diva. You used past-tense when referring to her, so I want to know how you know she is dead."

John flinched for a split second before saying anything. "Uh, I just misspoke, alright? Now if you don't mind, I need to get some sleep." Before Michael could ask any more questions, John Cena opened the door and told both him and Don to leave the room immediately.

As soon as the door slammed in his face, Michael turned to his partner and said, "Well, I guess we're back to square one."

Don gave him a quizzical glance, "Yea, but where does that leave us?"

"Doesn't leave us anywhere, Don," Michael replied as he and Don proceeded to walk down the hallway. "We just have to hit the files once again and hope to God something turns up." To this, Don simply scratched his temple and thought for a moment.

"What about that woman he's seeing? Don't you think she'd know something?"

"Who, Maria?" Michael contemplated the proposal for a brief moment. "I guess it couldn't hurt, but it will have to wait." Don glimpsed down at his watch and sighed.

"Yea, I suppose it will have to." Don then thought of something else, something he should have mentioned earlier, but hadn't. "Hey Michael, didn't you hear about the Salmonella scare a few weeks ago?"

"Yea," Michael said. "It was all over the news. What about it?"

"Didn't John just say that he and Maria went to Olive Garden on the night in question?"

"Yea, but Don, that was almost a week ago. Tomorrow is Monday, remember?"

"But Michael, the scare was announced _**two**_ weeks ago. If I'm certain, wasn't Olive Garden closed last Monday night?" The two detectives looked at each other for a brief moment in complete silence.

"Alright, it's about one o'clock now," Michael said. "Why don't we get some sleep and go question some of the employees at Olive Garden around noon. Therefore, the majority of the workers will be there by the time we arrive." Don grinned; he loved how Michael's mind worked sometimes.

"Sounds like a plan to me. Come on," he said, descending the staircase. "Let's get out of here."

**It was four o'clock** in the morning when Nikki Styles turned on her computer and waited for it to load. What she was doing sitting in front of her computer so damned early in the morning was beyond her, but when she felt the need to write, she had to write, no matter what time of the day it was.

That's what made her successful at her job, after all.

With her stories came several overnighters that would have driven anybody else over the edge; but not heri. She was the exact opposite of everybody else around her. She willingly allowed herself to write for hours at a time until she was completely satisfied with a story she'd been writing. And this story was no exception.

Her "exclusive interview" with Michael had gone absolutely nowhere. Then there was the ride back home. With the taxi driver not knowing where he was going and her rushed schedule to get to work, she could only hope for some kind of break to come her way; and then it happened.

It was minor at first, but as she continued to think about it, the story just came to her; like one big puzzle waiting to be solved. It was easy enough; her taxi driver was trying to make conversation with her, but it was what he was saying that had piqued her curiosity. Something he had said pertaining to the investigation about the WWE kidnapper. So far, nothing about the missing diva had surfaced in the media, but the taxi driver had theorized about what could have occurred the night the woman went missing.

_**Flashback: **_

"_You know," the taxi driver had said. "I honestly think that the kidnapper probably worked for the company."_

"_What makes you say that?" She'd asked him, obviously perplexed by his statement._

_The taxi driver glanced at his rearview mirror and said, "Well, for one thing, it seems strange to me that a person would simply want to kidnap some diva without a motive of some sort. The Diva Search Contest, as they refer to it, is very popular right now. Maybe that was something that the kidnapper was counting on."_

_Nikki had thought for a moment before responding. "Are you saying that the kidnapper is out for revenge?"_

_The taxi driver had simply smiled at her. "I guess you could say that, yea."_

_**End of Flashback**_.

Despite the fact that the conversation had occurred several hours before, Nikki still couldn't ignore the taxi driver's theory. What if he was right? What if the kidnapper had indeed worked for the company and was now looking to get revenge for some unknown reason? It did make sense, in a way. But Nikki still couldn't publish the story based on theories. She needed facts, not opinions. Or did she?

Opening Microsoft Word on her browser, she quickly began to write the story that refused to give way. Before she knew it, she had the entire column filled with words that described the taxi driver's theory in detail. Now, if only she could get some information that could help support it. That was when she glanced at the framed photograph setting upon the desk beside her and smiled. The photo was a simple one of her and her brother, Joey Styles. Sure, he was probably sworn to secrecy about the company's involvement in the investigation, but if there was something she knew about her brother, it was that he couldn't keep secrets for very long. Grabbing her cell phone, she dialed her brother's cell phone number and waited until he answered.

"Hey, Joey, this is Nikki."

"Hey," her brother answered in a soft voice, "what do you want? It's five-fifteen in the morning." Nikki sighed; she knew she should have thought of an explanation before making the call. Damn it. Thinking fast, she decided to give him the best explanation she could manage. Not to tell him about the taxi driver's theory or anything, but to see how he'd react to her asking him a few questions.

"Yea, I know. I just wanted to ask you a few questions." She heard a slight pause over the line.

"About what?"

"About the investigation, what else?"

"Nikki," Joey said. "You know I can't talk about that."

Nikki sighed, "I know that, Joey."

"Then why are you asking me about it?"

"Because I need something to go on, otherwise I'm out of a job. Come on, Joey, just a tiny bit of information and then I'll leave you alone." She waited a few minutes until her brother responded.

"Alright," Joey groaned, "what do you want to know?" She smiled, knowing that her persistent nature had paid off once again.

Nikki pressed the 'Enter' key on her laptop's keyboard before replying. "Well, I was wondering what you knew about the missing diva. What have you heard and do you think that the kidnapper might be working within the WWE?"

"Well, all I _can_ tell you is that she was a Diva Search contestant. She went missing about a week ago and now everybody is freaking out, worried that they will be next. Anything else?"

"You mean you can't confirm whether or not the kidnapper might be working in the company?"

"Nikki…I don't know anything about that. I've heard rumors around the locker room as well as on the Internet, but so far, nobody seems to know for sure." Frustrated with the answer she had just received, she finished typing her last sentence and temporarily minimized the Microsoft Word window on her computer screen.

"It just figures," she said to nobody in particular. "Alright. Anything else you would like to tell me?" She waited for her brother's response.

"Yea," Joey quickly replied. "If you EVER call me this early in the morning again, I will personally block your number. I have a job, Nikki, and I'd like to keep it for as long as humanly possible; if you catch my drift." With that, Nikki heard the distinct 'click' of her brother hanging up on her before the dial tone buzzed in her ear. _So much for getting an actual 'exclusive' interview for the weekly news column_, she thought to herself.

Glaring at the computer screen before her, she let out a frustrated sigh before shutting down the machine for the first time all morning. If only there was an easier way to get an exclusive interview from the people working within the WWE.

Little did Nikki know, she wouldn't have to wait long to get one.

_**And there he is**__…The fat barbeque-grillin' Oklahoma freak of the WWE. _

_Just look at him, sitting on the couch watching the Sooners do whatever the Hell they're supposed to do. Not like they're any good. In fact, I personally think they suck. But it doesn't matter what I think, does it? As long as this fat lard-ass gets to watch his football and eat his hot dogs, then everything is great in the world._

_But not if I have anything to say about it. Hell, I dare say that I am the reason why the WWE is stuck in Greenwich, Connecticut in the first place. Those damned law enforcement pigs won't allow them to leave the city. How fucked up is that?_

_Though it makes my job of getting rid of the fat-ass in my view a hell of a lot easier; that's for damned sure! _

_Smiling to myself for the first time in almost two days, I quickly approach the house and place my "special" equipment upon the ground next to me. Here I am sitting underneath the bastard's window, and he doesn't even know it. How sad is that?_

_Just to think that this son of a bitch decided not to stay in the city of Greenwich with the rest of the company. He must feel that he's too good for them. He probably thinks that he shouldn't HAVE to stay in the city known for being the home of the WWE. Well, guess it's up to me to prove him wrong, isn't it? Looking through the glass window, I carefully grab my bottle of ether along with the small rag I brought with me and make my way towards the back of the house. _

_There should be a door around here somewhere. I then scan the side of the building and soon discover a partially-open door to my left; the damned fool. He should know better than to make the mistake of leaving his door unlocked. I knew this job was going to be easy but not THIS easy! In fact, I have to keep myself from laughing as I make my grad entrance. _

_An entrance fit for a scene in a movie. Even as I imagine the scene playing in my mind, I can hear the fat-ass cheering his favorite team in what I assume to be the living room. Oh, too bad his team is going to lose its most loyal, devoted fan. Too bad the WWE is going to lose its most valuable announcer tonight._

_What a shame, too. Raw needs him oh, so badly right now. Well, that is the plan, isn't it? To take the company out one measly employee at a time until there is nobody left but the Chairman himself. Oh, the thought of finishing Vince off once and for all brings a smile to my face. If only he could see me now, see what I have become. Maybe then he'd think twice about ignoring me like he did in the past._

_I walk on my heels as I slowly approach the living room with my "special tools" in hand. The only thing I can see is the illuminating glow coming from the living room as I stalk down the central corridor of the house. I can't see anything else in this dump; the place is that much of a fucking disaster. Hell, I'd even make the claim that the aftermath of Katrina looked better than this place does right now. How sick is that?_

_Well, if there is anybody who knows a thing or two about being 'sick,' it's me. I'm the sickest killer alive. I'm even more demented than Charles Manson! And that's saying something._

_Oh man, there he is. The slob, the loud-mouthed announcer, the bastard that is Jim Ross; he's right in my sights…Just begging me to finally finish him off. Well, you know what they say about making wishes without thinking them through._

_And at that very instant, J.R. suddenly turns his head in my direction and looks at me. Shit, he wasn't supposed to see me! God damn it! Standing deathly still, I simply glare at him, daring him to make a move. A few seconds later, he does. _

_He reaches for his tiny cell phone on the small desk to his left. _

_Oh, no you don't!_

_Making my move, I lunge for him, grabbing the phone in the process. Though he tries to fight me for it, I simply wrap my arm around his neck and restrain him. Then I quickly open the bottle of ether, pour the clear liquid onto the rag and place it over his nose and mouth. There, that ought to shut him up. _

_A few minutes pass before his body goes completely limp. I then smile, knowing the first part of my plan has worked after all._

_Now, if only I can carry this bastard out to the car without any of his neighbors noticing. Thinking fast, I quickly grab a hold of his legs and carry him through the front door of his house. But as I look at the houses within my vision, I suddenly realize just how isolated Jimmy Boy's house really is. Hell, I could scream until my lungs give out and nobody would ever hear me. _

_Knowing this, I simply walk over to my car with Jim Ross in my arms. This is so damned EASY! If I had known it was going to be like this, I probably would have done this a long time ago. _

_But I didn't. Though I've done it now, haven't I? Yes. I have finally taken out the main announcer of Monday Night Raw. It's about time, too. His loud, obnoxious voice was really starting to get on my nerves. _

_Using my left hand, I slowly crouch close to the vehicle and open the passenger-side door. It's a good thing I got rid of the passenger seat, otherwise, this job would be nearly impossible to accomplish. Hell, if anything else, it makes my car distinctive; who else has a car with the passenger-side seat missing? Nobody, that's who. And that's why I stand out from the rest of this damned country, I do things that other people wouldn't expect me to. _

_Once I have him lying on the floor of my car, I quickly unzip the body bag and place him inside. That should keep him contained until we reach our destination. Isn't that right, Jimmy Boy?_

_His head moves to one side, as if he's trying to respond to my question. Too bad he can't, though. Too bad he'll never be able to respond to my questions, or anybody else's for that matter._

_With that in mind, I close the passenger-side door, briskly make my way to the driver's side, and climb in. _

_Before I insert the key into the ignition, I glance over my shoulder once more, smile at my victim, and say, _"Don't worry, Jimmy Boy. Only two hours and you'll be right where you belong: underground."

**To be Continued?**

**A/N:** **To those of you reading this story: Thank you so much for being patient. I am truly sorry it has taken me this long to update, but my computer crashed and I have had the most difficult time trying to update my stories on this website. Once again, don't forget to send me a review or two, letting me know what you think of this story so far. Thanks once again, everybody. **


	8. Chapter 7

**Author's Note for Chapter: I know following this story is a little confusing, so I have bolded the first few words of where every page break should go. Hope this helps!-Alliegirl4life**

**Jerry Lawler, Vince's** secondary announcer for Monday Night Raw, sat on the leather couch in his living room with a cordless phone in his hand. He had been trying to contact his best friend and co-worker, Jim Ross, for almost four hours and had yet to receive a response. Although he knew he shouldn't feel worried, Jerry knew Jim always answered his phone no matter what time of day it was; especially when he had the day off.

But not today.

This concerned Jerry because it wasn't like Jim to avoid answering his phone calls; much less not to answer his phone at all. Despite what his gut feeling was telling him, Jerry attempted to dial Jim Ross's phone number one last time.

_Come on…Answer already! This isn't like you, Jim, _Jerry thought to himself.

_**Ring**_

_Where are you? Why aren't you answering your phone?_

_**Ring**_

_God damn you, Jim, answer your phone!_

_**RING**_

_What the hell? I guess you aren't home after all._ Jerry finally let out a sigh of frustration as he heard the phone ring one last time.

_**RING! … "Sorry, we're unavailable to take your call, please leave a message after the tone." BEEP!**_

Knowing he could do nothing more than wait for a response, Jerry decided to leave a voicemail in the hopes that his best friend would call back: "Hey Jim, it's me. I've been trying to call you but you haven't been answering your phone. I'm just wondering where you are and what you've been up to since you had the day off. Well, call me back as soon as you get this." Jerry then pressed the 'End' button on his phone before making another phone call; this time, to his boss, Vince McMahon. "Hey Vince, this is Jerry."

"Hey Jerry, what's going on?"

"Have you heard from Jim today?"

"Uh, no, I haven't. Why?"

"I don't know; I've been trying to call him and he hasn't answered."

"Really? Well, that's strange."

Jerry sighed, "Yea, I know. Any idea where he might be?"

"Not really," Vince said. "But I'll tell you what: I'll have my friend call his cell and see if he answers."

Jerry clinched his fists, if only Vince would think for once. "I've already tried that, Vince; he didn't answer."

"Oh." _Oh_ was right. There was no way Jim would not answer his cell phone; even during the worst of emergencies. Unless something else happened to him.

Jerry cringed; he didn't want to think about that. "What do you think I should do? I'm concerned about him, Vince."

"Same here, now that you mention it." There was a slight pause on the other end of the line. "Okay, I'll tell you what: I have a few contacts down there that live close by. I'll have them check it out, see what they come up with."

"Okay, thank you so much, Mr. McMahon." Jerry said out of respect.

"You're welcome," Vince replied. "Now I'll get on that and if I hear anything, I'll let you know." With that, the conversation ended. After replacing his phone, Jerry glanced at his nightstand and noticed the framed photograph of him and Jim eating hotdogs on the Fourth of July the previous year. Seeing the photo made Jerry smile; he only hoped that nothing bad had happened to his one and only best friend.

**"HELP!"**

Jim Ross felt his heart pounding in his chest; he couldn't see beyond the darkness that surrounded him, engulfed him. He could barely breathe, much less think. Where the hell was he?

"HELP! SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP ME!" He shouted, but nobody responded to his desperate cries. The only thing he could hear was silence.

And the _ping pang_ of dirt falling on top of whatever encased him.

"Help me, please!" He continued to scream, to shout, but all he heard was the sound of dirt falling on top of the mysterious contraption. And the sound was getting louder. Where was he? What was going on? Where was that sound coming from anyway?

_Ping pang, ping, ping, PANG!_

The succession of the sound increased with every passing second. Where he was, Jim couldn't be sure; all he was sure of was that he wasn't at home watching football.

He was somewhere else entirely, but where?

"Help!" He shouted again. This time, he heard another sound; something he couldn't place. It sounded like…Like…Static. What the hell?

"HELP ME! SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP ME!" Jim tried to take a breath but found the task nearly impossible to do. Panicked, Jim slammed his hands onto the four walls surrounding him and let out another scream, making his throat hurt even more. God, he had to get out of there, just had to!

But how?

Pressing his hands against the roof of the mysterious contraption, Jim attempted to open it with all the strength he had, but couldn't. Something heavy was pressing against the roof of the box, of the thing that restrained his movement. Pulling his hands away, he thought about the sound he had heard just a few moments earlier; the sound of dirt _falling _on top of him.

Now curious, he allowed his hands to explore the area around him and his finger grazed over what he thought was a lighter. Quickly, he wrapped his fingers around it and pulled it close to him. Sure enough, he was right; it was a lighter. Blinking his eyes, he pressed the button on the side and watched a flame flicker to life; and that's when he saw them.

The four walls encased around him were made of wood and were in a shape which he recognized all too well: the shape of a coffin.

_He had been buried alive_!

With his heart still pounding in his chest, Jim let out one final cry for help; desperate for somebody to find him and free him from the unbearable prison. But nobody came.

Not one single soul came to his rescue.

If only he knew that his killer was the only person alive who could hear him.

_Damn him! He's loud as hell, no wonder I chose him to be the first announcer on my list. _

"HELLP!" _Mother fucker is louder than a whore in heat. Come to think of it, that's all he's good for: screaming over the headset, giving the entire home audience a headache to remember. _

_The Oklahoma whore he is can't seem to keep his mouth shut now, either. I'm surprised I can still hear, much less listen to this fat ass screaming for somebody to be his long-lost hero. _

_How pathetic._

_And just think: this bastard would be nothing without that son-of-a-bitch, Vince McMahon. Damn that bastard; he'll get his, that's for sure._

_But for now, I can only smile and wince as this lazy Raw Whore of the Year continues to cry like the huge bitch he is! _

_It's just too bad that nobody but me can hear him; but oh well, this will have to do for now. Grinning, I glance down at my watch and realize that only five minutes had passed since I placed Jimmy Boy in his resting spot. The thought of being able to get rid of this slimy sucker brings a smile to my face. Finally, Monday nights will be peaceful once again! As I continue to stand there, I notice that the screaming has seized, the crying has stopped. It's finally over. The silence I hear over my headset is golden. I can only hear the rain falling around me as I approach the grave site once more; only this time, I proceed to spit on good ol' Jimmy's grave and laugh to myself. If only every kill could be this satisfying._

**Nikki Styles**, however, wasn't so satisfied.

She had been working on her story for the past two days and still nothing new had surfaced in regards to the missing diva.

Only gossip and rumors, and there was no way she could feature them in her story. No, she apparently needed solid evidence that something had happened to the woman, despite the fact that she had spent over five hours writing her original story idea. In spite of her efforts, the editor of the paper refused to print her story on the premises that it wasn't based off of facts, but opinions. Nikki gritted her teeth at the thought of having to rewrite it, but she didn't have a choice. She either had to rewrite her story from scratch, or not have it printed at all.

And as any journalist knows, you want to get your stories published whenever possible. So there she sat in front of her computer, punching the keyboard one keystroke at a time. Before she could completely finish the third full paragraph of her article, though, she heard her boss say her name. Startled, she glanced upward, only to see his beady hazel eyes staring down at her.

"How is that story coming along?" He asked her with a cheesy grin on his face. Nikki forced a smile and sighed.

"It's coming along. I still need to do a few more interviews before I can submit it." Assuming he would simply walk away from her cubicle, she returned her gaze to the computer screen before her and continued typing. After a few seconds, however, it was quite obvious that her boss wasn't going to walk away from her cubicle anytime soon.

"Who do you have to interview?"

Nikki looked up at him, surprised he was still standing there. "I have to contact people working in the WWE." She gave him a quizzical glance. "Why?"

"Just curious because I need this story finished by Monday morning." He looked at his watch with a slight grin plastered to his face. "It's Friday, so I suggest you get started."

Nikki gritted her teeth and forced one last smile before saying, "Okay, Mr. Meltzer, will do." She then watched carefully as her boss slowly turned around and walked in the opposite direction before grabbing the telephone receiver and calling Titan Towers. Hopefully, somebody would answer her phone call.

"Hello."

"Hi, this is Nikki Styles with _Wrestling Observer_, I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?" She held her breath. She knew either the person could hang up or answer her questions. She only prayed the person would choose the latter response.

"Hold on for just a moment," the person replied. Nikki released her breath and whispered a prayer; finally, she might get the answers she'd been looking for! "Hello, this is Stephanie McMahon, how may I help you?"

_Oh great; the bitch of all bitches_, Nikki instantly thought when she heard the woman's scratchy, irritating voice on the other end of the line. As anybody else working for the _Wrestling Observer_ knew, Nikki couldn't stand the sound of Stephanie's voice, much less her character on television. She only hoped the interview wouldn't last very long. "Yes, my name is Nikki Styles, I'm with _Wrestling Observer_ and I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?"

"Okay, that's not a problem," said the Vice President of the WWE. "What would you like to ask me?"

Nikki glanced down at her notepad, "First of all, have you heard anything in regards to the missing diva?"

"You mean Rebecca?"

"Yes, Rebecca," Nikki answered, quickly jotting down the diva's name.

"Hmm…I know that police are searching for her now and we are hoping for her safe return, but as for your question, I haven't heard anything new."

Nikki scratched her temple at the awkwardness of Stephanie's previous response. "You mean you haven't heard anything at all?"

"No, I haven't." Thinking the Vice President might have something to hide, Nikki pressed on.

"What about the investigation, anything new in concerns to that?"

"No, besides what they say on the news." _How odd_, Nikki thought, _that the Vice President wouldn't know a damned thing when it came to something as tragic as a missing company contestant_.

"Okay," Nikki said. "What implications will an investigation have on the Diva Search contest, do you think?"

"For one," she heard the Vice President say, "the Diva Search is definitely going to continue no matter what the circumstances might be. This is a business, after all, so our main concern is the welfare of the company." Nikki was astounded; she could not believe what she had just heard.

"So, you mean to tell me that your main concern is the company and not the employees?"

"Well, I didn't mean it that way," she heard Stephanie quickly retort. "What I meant was that the main concern right now is the future of the WWE, and the Diva Search contest is a large part of it. We definitely care about our employees because without them this business wouldn't exist. But we also need to focus on the future of this business as well. So, to answer your original question, the investigation isn't going to have any implications on the contest whatsoever."

Nikki furiously scribbled the words down upon her notepad before asking the next question. "Has there been any increased security since Rebecca went missing?" There was a pause over the line.

"Yes," Stephanie finally said "We have hired extra security guards to escort the divas to and from the arena."

"That's it?" Nikki asked.

"Well, as _you_ should know," Stephanie retorted harshly, "there is only so much a corporation like us can do to ensure the safety of our employees and contestants. Any other questions?"

Nikki cringed, "No ma'am. That should be all. Thank you so much for your time."

"You too." Then the line went dead. The woman had hung up on her. _Unbelievable_, Nikki thought. _All that just to have some snooty bitch hang up on me; I'll show her_!

With anger boiling deep inside her, Nikki could no longer control herself; she allowed her fingers to race across the computer keyboard at a pace even she was impressed by. Before she knew it, her story was complete, and ready to be submitted. Smiling to herself, she pressed the 'Print' button on her printer and waited as the sheets of paper ejected from the noisy machine.

**Michael Hitchcock** stared through the windshield of his car while several thoughts bombarded his tired mind. The trip to Olive Garden was a waste of gas, not to mention a complete waste of effort and time. Nobody seemed to know anything, especially when it came to the whereabouts of two famous wrestlers gracing their presence. To Michael, something about that didn't set well with him. Sure, he could understand the employees not wanting to be interrogated by the police, but the fact that nobody could account for John Cena's alibi on the night in question made him think that there was more to the story than he or his partner were led to believe.

If only there was somebody who would tell him the truth about what happened that fateful night, about what really happened to Rebecca, the missing diva. What did happen to her, anyway? Was she still alive? Michael certainly hoped so; otherwise, he feared another repeat of the Turow Investigation would come back to haunt him.

With his mind still racing with the horrible memories from the closed case, he glanced at the clock on the dashboard and realized it was nearly seven-thirty in the evening. Nearly eight hours had passed since his interrogations at Olive Garden began. Returning his gaze to the windshield, Michael rolled his eyes and sighed; it had been a long day.

As soon as he did that, however, he heard the passenger door click open. Turning his head, he watched Don slowly climb into the empty car seat beside him.

"So, you get us something to eat?" Michael asked, his stomach still growling from the lack of food in his system.

"Yea," Don replied. "It took long enough-nearly five minutes or so-but we got it." Unwrapping the tin-foil covered food, he suddenly added: "You wanted the burger with the mustard on it, right?"

Michael nodded, "Yea. Hand it over, I'm starving!" Grabbing the food out of Don's hand, Michael briskly unwrapped the foil and began eating the soggy burger.

"You know what?" Don finally asked a few minutes later. "I wonder if John is really our guy."

Surprised by the comment, Michael asked, "What makes you say that?"

"Well, think about it: John is Vince's pet; we all know that. Not _only_ that," he paused to take a bite of his food, "but John Cena would be ruined if something like that made the news. Know what I'm saying?"

Michael thought for a moment, "No, I don't. Granted, he's one of Vince's favorite wrestlers, but that doesn't make him innocent, Don. In fact, it seems more like the perfect cover if you ask me."

"Perfect cover?" Don asked.

"Yea," said Michael. "If he has the boss's back, there's no telling what he is capable of." Finishing his burger, he crumpled the empty pile of foil in his hand and placed it into a plastic bag beside the driver's seat.

"I guess you have a point there, Mic," Don concluded. "But there's something I still don't understand."

Michael gave him a bewildered glance, "What's that?"

"Why Olive Garden remained open during the scare. I thought they would have been closed." As both of them had learned after asking several of Olive Garden's staff, Olive Garden had been one of the very few places which remained open on that particular Monday night. So, John and Maria could have dined there, but according to everybody they interviewed, they hadn't.

Michael instantly stopped eating his meal altogether. He knew when somebody lied to him, there was a pretty good reason behind it, and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to find out the reason this time as well. Turning on the ignition, he quickly reversed out of the parking space and drove towards the police station with one question still on his mind:

_Why did John Cena lie_?

**"Shawn, are** you still awake?"

Shawn stared at the ceiling above him as Hunter's voice rang in his ear. It was nearly four o'clock in the morning, he couldn't sleep, and he didn't know why.

"Shawn?"

With his mind still racing with the memories of the Turow Investigation, Shawn continued to ignore his fiancé's hoarse voice calling his name.

"Shawn?"

He didn't know why the investigation still bothered him or why he even thought about it. All he knew was that it was depriving him of precious sleep, precious sleep he wished he could have.

"Shawn…"

Finally snapping to his senses for the first time all night, Shawn turned his head to address his fiancé. "What?"

"You're still awake? Damn, it's four in the morning. Get some sleep already."

"What are you doing tellin' me to get some sleep when you're awake, too?"

Hunter moved slightly, "Guess you got a point there."

"You guess?" Shawn asked. "I do have a point there, Hunt."

"Then why are you still awake?" Hunter asked in a hoarse whisper.

Shawn thought for a moment, "You know why, Hunt."

Hunter pulled the comforter closer to his body, "Oh." Then silence was all Shawn could hear. No questions from the Cerebral Assassin, no caressing, no kiss to chase his worried thoughts away, nothing. All he received was a big giant "Oh" from the man he loved with all of his heart before silence consumed the space between them.

It hurt Shawn, knowing that he could do nothing to make Hunter show more compassion towards him. And just to think that it had not always been that way. Before the tragic incident, he and Hunter were happy together. They would spend hours with each other, talking about future plans and business deals; but they no longer did that.

Now all they shared was silence; deafening silence that Shawn wished he could eliminate once and for all. He also wished that Hunter would feel the same way he did.

But he didn't; that much was painfully obvious to the Heartbreak Kid. In a single attempt to forget about his troubles, Shawn closed his eyes and tried to focus on peaceful thoughts, but none came. Instead, a single image recurred in his mind; an image of the strange man standing next to Rebecca on that fateful night. Only this time, his mind's eye witnessed the man following Rebecca down the hallway, towards the stage. Then suddenly, the man grabbed Rebecca by the arm and pulled her into a secluded area, before wrapping a towel around her nose and mouth. Feeling the panic surge within him, Shawn tried to concentrate on the man's physical features: dark hair, blue eyes, and a slender build with bags under his eyes. The uniform was brown with a logo on the front. He focused on the logo one more time and sure enough, his suspicions were confirmed. The logo read as the following letters: U-P-S. If the man didn't work for UPS, he certainly chose a perfect disguise for his malicious intent. Nobody would have suspected anything had they walked past him; no wonder nobody had come forward with information

Slowly opening his eyes, he felt the sudden urge to contact Michael Hitchcock once again, only this time, he'd be damned if he wasn't going to follow through with it. Quickly, he sat up, reached for his cell phone on the nightstand, climbed out of bed and exited the hotel room for one last time.

**TO BE CONTINUED?**

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter for whatever it was worth and I am SO sorry I haven't been able to update this story until now. All I can say is that technology sucks! Lol. Anyway, thanks once again for reading and don't forget to send me a review!**


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 of "The Cover of Darkness."**

**Disclaimers: You know them by now. I do not own anybody except for Don Smith, Michael Hitchcock, and Nikki Styles unless otherwise mentioned. **

**Pairing: Shawn/Hunter**

**Enjoy this or do not; the choice is yours!**

**---**

**N**ikki smiled as she retrieved the pieces of paper from the printer. She knew she had one hell of a story. With this much hype, she might even make the front page of the _Wrestling Observer. _Feeling satisfied with a job well done, she prepared to submit her story to her boss, David Meltzer. She knew it was finally time to make a name for herself, no matter what the consequences might be.

---

Shawn flipped open his cell phone the moment he exited the hotel. The time was either then or never. Feeling the adrenaline rush through his tired body, Shawn quickly punched in Michael's number and waited for a response. But no response came.

_What on earth?_

Why wasn't Michael Hitchcock answering his phone? The notable detective always answered his phone no matter what. So, why wasn't Michael answering his phone now?

Concerned, Shawn decided to take a chance by leaving a voice message. "Hey Mike, it's me. Listen, I think I remember something about the guy I saw the other night. So, when you get the chance, please call me back. My number is…" Shawn recited his phone number before ending the call as several questions plagued his mind.

---

_Heading back to Greenwich, I drive passed this hotel and instantly notice Shawn Michaels standing in the parking lot holding a cell phone. What the hell is he doing?_

_Now I know he's with the queer, Hunter Helmsley. I also know that Officer Turow almost took care of this nasty son of a bitch a few months back. Maybe if that bastard knew what he was doing, I wouldn't have to be looking at this ugly man-whore standing directly in front of the building. _

_But enough about Shawn. I could care less about him right now; especially when I have so much work ahead of me and very little time to get it done. Hell, I might even take care of a few more divas to distract the damned police while I'm here. God knows they're probably on my trail by now. Which is good; I want them to follow me. They might get lucky and find little ol' J.R back in Oklahoma. Wouldn't that be something for the papers? _

_Grinning at the thought of it, I begin thinking about my next possible victim. God only knows she's the biggest slut in the company, which is a good thing. The bigger the slut, the easier it is for me to get the job done. Grabbing my switchblade, I put the car into second gear and drive to the one place I know I will find her._

_**Days Inn**__. _

--

Michael closed the manila folder on the desk before him and rubbed his eyes. He had been studying the same case file for the past six hours without success. Whoever had kidnapped this diva knew what he or she was doing. The person was careful not to get caught, much less be suspected of any wrong doing. The person was capable of blending in with the environment, and had proven to have the ultimate disguise: dark hair and blue eyes. How many people working in the WWE had those physical characteristics?

_Twenty, thirty people_? Michael knew he didn't have enough time or man power to question that many people, especially when he had a limited amount of time to find the missing woman. He secretly hoped this case wasn't a copy-cat of the Turow Investigation. God only knew he didn't need another repeat performance.

Looking at the clock on the wall, Michael finally decided to call it a night. He hadn't made any progress and so far, John Cena's case file appeared clean. The WWE Champion didn't have any bad marks against him, not even a speeding ticket. The fact that John had lied about his whereabouts on the night in question didn't set well with him, but what could Michael do about it? Maybe John was having sex with Maria and didn't want rumors spreading about their affair. Maybe John was sworn to secrecy about his whereabouts. Whatever the reason, Michael knew John wasn't capable of kidnapping anybody, even if the person was a diva-in-training.

Michael sighed; it had been a long day and night for him and the other detectives working the case. Being he was the last person at the police station, he finally reached into his pocket and retrieved his cell phone. He probably had a few missed phone calls. Opening his phone, Michael instantly realized his instincts were correct. He had two missed calls within the past few hours. Scanning through them, he recognized Shawn's cell phone number and listened to the voice message the wrestler had left him.

"_Hey Mike, it's me. Listen, I think I remember something about the guy I saw the other night. So, when you get the chance, please call me back. My number is…_"

Michael knew Shawn had called him only two hours before, and it was now almost four o'clock in the morning. Pressing the green 'Call' button on the keypad, Michael proceeded to return Shawn's call. "Hey, Shawn. This is Detective Michael Hitchcock. You called me earlier?"

"Yea," he heard Shawn's groggy voice say. "I think I remember something about the guy I saw with Rebecca."

"What is it?" Michael asked.

"The guy was wearing a shirt with a business logo on it. The letters spelled, 'U.P.S'" Michael quickly wrote the initials into his notepad and groaned. This case just kept getting better.

"Okay, anything else?"

Shawn said, "Yea, I think the guy works for the WWE."

"What do you mean?" asked Michael.

"Well, I haven't seen him around much." said Shawn. "But I think he works for the company because of his access and the clothes were faded."

Michael glanced up at the clock and rubbed his eyes once more. He knew Shawn wasn't telling him everything he needed to know. "There's something else isn't there, Shawn?"

"Yes," Shawn answered, his voice still groggy. "The clothes weren't the right color, that's how I definitely know the guy wasn't working for UPS."

"What color were they?" Michael's interest was now piqued. Whatever Shawn had to say might actually help him catch the kidnapper. At least, that's what Michael hoped for. "Well?"

Shawn let out an audible sigh before saying, "They were gray, Michael. UPS uniforms are beige, so whoever this guy was, he wasn't working for UPS."

Michael felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The last time workers from UPS wore gray uniforms was almost two decades ago, and those uniforms had since been resold to the public. Anybody who had access to those uniforms could be the kidnapper, but only a few of those who did work for the WWE. Ending the conversation, Michael carefully closed his cell phone and reopened another case file. Only this time, it wasn't John Cena's case file Michael was looking at.

It was Randy Orton's.

--

Hunter looked at Shawn who was lying beside him. Did Shawn really have to take Michael's phone call? Did he really have to get himself involved with the case?

Hunter sighed; he wished he didn't know the answer to his own questions. "What did Michael have to say?" Shawn slowly turned over on his side and addressed him.

"He just wanted to know what I knew. That's all."

"Is it?" Hunter asked quietly.

"Hunt," Shawn slowly began, "you know how much I want to help Michael and Don. They helped save my life. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

Hunter carefully brushed a few strands of hair away from Shawn's face and said, "Yes, it does. I just don't understand why you want to go through this again."

Shawn thought for a moment, "Maybe because I feel obligated to. Hunt, I witnessed that guy with Rebecca the other night. I am a witness, and if that doesn't help Don or Michael in any way, then I guess they won't need my help, now will they?" Hunter had to admit, Shawn did have a good point. Michael did help save his life; and if it wasn't for both Michael and Don, Hunter knew Shawn wouldn't be lying beside him right at that moment.

Just the thought of such a possibility send cold chills down Hunter's spine. He could never contemplate life without Shawn by his side. Looking at his fiancé, Hunter leaned in close and kissed him on the lips. "I guess you're right. I love you, Shawn."

Shawn smiled, "I love you too, Hunt."

Allowing himself to relax, Hunter slowly fell asleep with Shawn cradled in his arms.

**To Be Continued?**

**A/N: In all honesty, I am not quite sure where I'm going with this story right now. So many things have happened recently that I've been severely side-tracked. That withstanding, I sincerely apologize for making you guys wait so long for an update. Once again, if you'd like to see more, all you have to do is let me know via review. **


End file.
